O, Brave New World
by charisma.exe
Summary: There, in front of him, was the way to the World of the Users, and Flynn was giving him the key. All Tron had to do was to take it, and the two of them would be in a World far from the Grid, far from everything Tron had come to know...
1. Once Upon a Time

[Based on an RP thread between myself and create-dot-cmd.]

_Once upon a time, there was a man on a bike. Not a motorcycle; just a bike._

_A long time ago, this man died and went to heaven. This was where he received the bike, and he rides it still._

_His hair starting to gray from trauma and stress, and his formerly youthful face beginning to sink in from loneliness, once upon a time, he thought heaven was beautiful._

_Until, alas, he was gifted with **knowledge.**_

_He rides on, too filled with melancholy to acknowledge the place filled with light around him. He ignores all the vibrant colors around him, only focusing on the path ahead of him, looking down at the road. He's seen it all before. He's only seen part, but it's all the same to him._

_It ceased to be beautiful a long time ago._

_Once upon a time, there was a man on a bike. He rides still, waiting, wondering, hoping for a diversion from the path he had been given._


	2. Prologue

Prologue

After the fall of the MCP, Tron thought he would never see Flynn again.

After all, it was natural to think so. When Flynn had jumped into the core of the MCP, Tron assumed - with the way the User's body seemed to be transmitted through the MCP's beam - that Flynn was being sent back home. After all, with the defeat of the MCP, Flynn's work in the System had been done. For a while afterward, Tron became even more curious about Flynn and his World, though he showed this to no one. What waited for Flynn when he returned home? Did he have friends, as Tron did? Did he have a loved one, as Tron did? Did he see Alan One again, as Tron never would have the chance to do so? So many questions, and yet there were no answers. After Flynn's departure, there was no evidence left that an actual User had stood in their midst. No evidence, that is, but the fact that the Ststem was free, and there was going to be no trouble ever again...

Until, as Tron called it, the Pull. He remembered that moment well, when his mind had suddenly become separate from his body, and in the beat of a pulse, part of him was being absorbed in a strange, invisible vortex faster than he could open his mouth to scream for Yori. Yori, who stood with the body he'd left behind, not at all aware of what had transpired. Tron saw himself standing there with her, the part of him that remained seeming to not have been affected by this strange phenomenon.

"Let's go home," he heard his Other Half say to Yori, both of them blissfully unaware of the envious Nothing that was among them. "I have to be well prepared for Alan One's next assignment." That Other Half... he was talking in _Tron's _voice, so much so that the invisible Tron almost forgot his own mouth wasn't moving, and that he was now a seprate entity.

Tron finally found his voice and he tried to scream, to break way from whatever was pulling him away from himself, away from the System, away from _Yori_. With his last bit of sentience for many millicycles, Tron uttered a desperate plea for attention, for help, for acknowledgement, for rescue from whatever unnatural force held the security Program in its tight, unrelenting grasp. When Tron had screamed himself hoarse, everything went black.

And Yori, at that time, swore she heard her name in the distance, but saw nothing.

For many cycles afterward, Tron saw nothing but darkness and the glow of his circuitry. Normally, it would have glowed brighter, but now it was muted, barely visible. Over the course of a microcycle, part of him had been untimely ripped from his own body and suddenly trapped in darkness. The Warrior Tron was not usually one to admit fear, but this time, there was nothing else to admit. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know where Yori was. He didn't know where _anything_ was. All he knew was that it was dark, and he was alone. To light his path, the Program willed himself to be slightly more confident; a Program lost, confused, and far from his home did not project much light. However, no matter how bright he became, the darkness was impenetrable. Tron had no choice but to explore the darkness how it was. He didn't know how much time had passed, but no matter how far he walked or where he walked, there were no obstacles. No walls. Just the ground and a darkness that was almost palpable. Finally, Tron hit a wall. His hand brushed up against it, and there it was. It was a smooth wall, like the large maze-like structures of the System, but it held no color. It was just as black as the rest of this strange room in which Tron had found himself. For all he knew, it was invisible. In a sudden burst of determination, Tron felt his way along the wall, hoping to find some sort of answers to the many, many questions he had.

It was the emptiness of the room that scared him. Not only was it dark, and not only was it as big as his home sector, but it was also chillingly quiet. There was literally no sound except for the steps Tron made on the deserted digital ground. Even then, the ground somehow made his steps muted; this place, wherever it was, might have been a vacuum, a place without sound.

But still, he could hear his own breathing, that mechanical process that circulated Energy throughout his body. If it was still possible for sound to be made... why wasn't there any? Was the room as empty as it looked?

Or was that what he was supposed to think?

Whatever the outcome turned out to be, Tron went against his better judgment and called out to something - anything - that was inside the room with him.

"Hello?" he tried, tapping on the wall a few times to create some noticeable noise. It wouldn't have mattered if he was brought face-to-face with Sark's zombie again; Tron only wanted for this deserted space not to be so _quiet_. "Is anyone here?"

Still, silence.

Tron tried again. "My name is Tron," he warily added. "I come from... the ENCOM System... I was wondering if, maybe..." he hesitated, not sure what to say next. "... If maybe there were any other Programs here? Or... anyone else?"

At this point, Tron didn't care. He was being driven mad by the silence. He wanted to see someone. Not just someone - _anyone_.

What seemed like ten full cycles passed before _something_ finally happened. It was the same absorbing force as before, only this time, it stole away his entire being. Tron could no longer see his own body, his own being. Most of it had vanished, presumably into a data stream that had just appeared. The scattered bits of himself were being propelled through the data stream at the speed of a Light Cycle at its peak performance. The self-aware fraction of Tron followed, and within moments in the data stream, he suddenly began to feel nauseous. How nausea could come to a being reduced to tiny pixels of data scattered along a very lengthy data stream, it is impossible to know for sure. However, in that suspended, weightless state of a single pixel of himself, Tron learned that everything he ever knew, everything he had ever accepted as logic - before _and_ after Flynn's appearance - would now apply for naught. He would have to forget everything he had ever accepted as truth - even, to his surprise and dismay, his User himself - and instead be the willing tool and servant of another entity altogether.

Tron simply wasn't preapred to find out exactly who that entity was.

However, whether he was prepared or not, Tron once again found himself in one piece. Looking himself over, Tron realized that he looked... _different_ from before. Where there had been a bright and intricate pattern of circuitry before, there was simply black, with a few dots of circuitry here and there. Tron looked down at his chest; the "T" was still there, but it was significantly smaller and more subtle than before. A flash of brown out of the corner of his eye made him look up and notice that his helmet was now gone. Whether it had been lost in the transmission or it simply wasn't a part of his new armor, Tron didn't know, and he hardly cared, either. He took a few moments to run his fingers through his hair, curious at how it had significantly more substance than before.

"Greetings, Program. Welcome to the Grid."

Tron's circuitry (or what of it showed now) flared as he jumped, startled by a familiar voice. He turned around to look at the Program addressing him, only to learn that this "Program" wasn't a Program after all.

"Flynn?" Tron asked incredulously, taking a few steps toward the User.

Flynn, also black-clad but now with a bright white stripe down the side of his torso, spread out his arms and grinned. "In the flesh, man!" he exclaimed, before suddenly correcting himself. "Uh... Well... You know what I mean."

Tron didn't.

Shrugging it off, Flynn approached the confused security Program and patted him on the back, grinning like that had only talked last millicycle. "How've you been, man? Still working hard for Alan?'

Alan _One_, Tron wanted to correct him, but he was too dazed to give Flynn a real answer. "Okay, I guess," he replied absently.

"That's alright, that's good," Flynn continued jubilantly, as if he, too, was blissfully unaware of the strange events the security Program had just experienced. "How's Yori? You two hitting it off?" he raised his eyebrows and smirked as if there had been something in that question Tron had missed.

Tron was still so overcome by confusion, anxiety, and distress that he simply gave Flynn a look that told the User never to say that name again if he wanted to stay in one piece.

But Flynn, ever energetic and carefree in a way Tron envied, seemed to ignore this. "Well," he continued, patting Tron's shoulder, "I suppose there's nowhere to get to but down to business. You probably have a lot of questions, and I understand that. So I'm going to make this as quick and easy as possible. After all, the more we talk, the less time we have to build!"

"Build what?" Tron suddenly interjected.

Once again, Flynn ignored him, caught up in his own world (Tron, ironically, had no way of knowing at the time how literal this metaphor truly was) of excitement. "What you're looking at here is called the 'Grid'. Will be, anyway. It's still in its early stages. But that's where you come in, buddy!"

Tron didn't know when or why his name had suddenly become "Buddy", but he nodded for Flynn to continue, attempting to take in every word Flynn said.

"I need you to help me create and maintain the Grid. Oh, don't worry, it's not like the Game Grid. It's actually a lot better. Will be, anyway. And a lot cooler, too! Come on, I'll show -"

"I wasn't programmed to create or repair," Tron warily pointed out, effectively interrupting Flynn. "Only to hunt down infections and other intrusions and destroy them, or at least eliminate them to the best of my ability. I won't be able to help unless there's a security breach or there's a certain area that needs inspection and patrol. And even then, I won't be able to do that until I have time to learn the area and -"

It was Flynn's turn to interrupt. For once in that conversation, he seriously considered Tron's words, and when he had heard enough, Flynn grabbed the Program by the shoulders and turned Tron to face him, cutting him off from his babble about his sole purpose in life.

"Programming, schmogramming," Flynn told him with a playful gleam in his eyes. "You're only useful when you can do things other than what you were meant to do." He smiled at Tron for a few moments, before inviting him on a personal tour of the Grid and a demonstration of Tron's upgraded functions.

Tron never forgot Flynn's words. Not for cycles, and not for years.


	3. Paradiso: I

**Act I: Paradiso**

**I**

That was many cycles ago. It had been so long, in fact, that Tron wondered how he still remembered when Flynn had first welcomed him to the Grid. In fact, that whole series of events haunted him, starting with that dreadful Pull that had separated him from Yori. Tron never forgot what it felt like to have his mind ripped from his body and having it formed into a new being. He never wanted to feel that again, nor did he want anyone else to feel it. It had been his burden, and his alone.

Scan after scan, infection after infection, breach after breach, Tron watched the Grid grow. It seemed like every time Tron went out to take care of a problem somewhere, there was always progress. In the City, in the Outlands, in the Sea of Simulation, and soon in the other cities and colonies that were beginning to pop up. This was a System in progress, and though Tron couldn't actively participate in the building of it, he was still protecting it and keeping it from collapsing. Tron, however, was happy with his role, and he wouldn't have had it any other way.

Or, at least, that's what he tried to convince himself. Even though the Grid was his new home and his priorities as a Program should have stayed with the Grid alone, Tron still had his doubts. Despite how beautiful and wonderful the Grid was turning out to be, Tron couldn't help but to think that there was something missing, something preventing him from being as enthusiastic about the whole process as Flynn was. Maybe it was the structure of the Grid and its "economy" - something the ENCOM System never had. In his previous home, there had been no public "hangouts" and certainly no obnoxious music and no Programs designed for the sole purpose of providing others leisure. There were no "public events" such as the occasional Game Night (which Flynn had _claimed_ was made in memory of all the conscripts who had perished on the Game Grid, but Tron knew better). The fact that the Games were almost identical to the ones he had been forced to play under the MCP's rule scarred him for quite a long time; it had taken Flynn several millicycles to persuade the great Warrior to have a friendly Disc Battle again. Even with his success in the Games (in which he went out of his way to make sure no one was derezzed), Tron still didn't find anything in the Grid that had... significance.

That is, however, until he discovered the Portal. At a time when there was nothing to be done at the moment (something that surprised Tron every chance it occurred), he decided to escort Flynn to the Portal to see him off. Up until that point, the Portal island had been the only place Tron hadn't been told to patrol, so when they eventually arrived via Solar Sailer (which Flynn had surprisingly recreated and updated), Tron was awestruck at the sheer beauty of the Portal, how much light it gave in this World of almost total darkness. The Portal was the closest thing to an I/O Tower Tron had seen on the Grid, and while the Solar Sailer swiftly moved toward its destination with only the User's guiding hand, Tron was taken back to simpler, happier times. Any chance he got, he remembered, he would sit on a ledge overlooking the City in his home sector and simply stare at the I/O Beams and how they graced the sky brighter than any star he had ever seen.

The Beams always seemed to stretch on for eternity, seeming to be endless. However, Tron always had a feeling they weren't. Perhaps it was simply his curious instinct, but he had always believed that the Users were _somewhere_. Not just in an invisible realm unaccessable to Programs, but in their own _World_. Young and innocent Tron always took several nanocycles to wonder what the Users were like, what they looked like, what their World was like, what kinds of things it had... and, though he knew the Users would never allow it, if he could see it for himself. Part of the young Program was ready to see things he'd never imagined and know things that had been kept secret from him for so long. More than anything, though, he wanted to see Alan One. Tron always took the time to wonder... if Tron was ever going to see the World of the Users, would Alan One be waiting there for him?

Tron had been jolted back to reality as the Solar Sailer docked at its destination. He had had those beliefs, those curiosities pounded out of him a long time ago, in order to be more efficient in protecting the Grid. After all, it was a new System that was still being constructed, so there was room for lots of potential trouble, particularly viruses and Gridbugs.

_Still_, Tron thought as he watched Flynn vanish, _some millicycle, I might be the one standing there, feeling that Energy, that warmth, knowing that what I was going to see would change my life forever..._

It was just a dream, Tron had concluded. He had been dreaming, and Programs didn't dream. They worked. So Tron gave up on his far-fetched fantasies and focused more on protecting the Grid. Dreaming was a waste of Energy, and Tron didn't have any Energy to waste. Not with his job.

Unbeknownst to Tron, however, the millicycle he dreamed would change his life came sooner than he thought.

Flynn had just returned from another one of his lengthy absences and had called a meeting with Tron and CLU to discuss status updates, reports, and future plans. During the meeting, Tron couldn't help but notice that CLU had been given a lot more work than usual, and that Tron himself had been given significantly less. Flynn had also mentioned that he was going to appoint many Programs to assist CLU in the workload he'd been given. As relieved as Tron should have been about having a lot more time to himself instead of constantly patrolling the Grid, he also found it... strange. Flynn had never lightened his load like this before. So instead of taking this small break with gratitude and relief, Tron found it necessary to interject.

"But I can do something, can't I?" he piped up. "I'll gladly take some of those scans and checks, and even file some-"

Flynn only smiled at the confused security Program and stated, "I'll talk to you later."

Flynn's words worried him. Did Flynn have no need for him anymore? Did he think CLU was a better worker? Tron couldn't help but to get self-conscious. For the rest of the meeting, Tron attempted to think of reasons why Flynn would have wanted to dismiss him. Was it because of some poor performance or quality in one of his patrols or missions? Some fatal error he had made that he apparently overlooked? Tron couldn't think of any other reason why Flynn would refuse to give Tron his regular portion of work. As a Program - one that was crucial to the maintaining of the Grid, especially - Tron thrived on work. It gave him something to do, and it gave him a chance to contribute to the greater good of his System. To be refused this...

Did Flynn think he was worthless? That couldn't be; Tron had given everything he had and more for the System and for Flynn; no one worked harder or gave more to the System than Tron, and it showed. Tron had had more than enough chances to prove himself to the User; if Flynn already knew this, then why was he being so strange with Tron's work portions?

_I don't THINK I've made any crucial errors,_ Tron thought, pretending to pay attention. _I mean, the Grid's still running smoothly... at least, as far as I know. I don't think I've overlooked anything, either..._

"Hey, man."

Tron jumped. He'd been so occupied with his thoughts that he didn't realize the meeting had ended. Flynn had sat down beside him, apparently feeling the Program's anxiety from across the boardroom.

"What's goin' on? You look tense." Flynn chortled in an attempt to lighten the mood, but it was in vain.

Tron was silent for a while. Then, slowly, he began, "I can't help but wonder if my performance is at a satisfactory level for you."

Flynn seemed to take a moment to let this sink in. Then, he took a deep breath and sighed. "You're wondering why I gave all the work to CLU this time."

Tron was baffled at how much Flynn seemed to ignore him at times and still pay close attention to him at others.

"Yes," Tron managed to say in as much of a businesslike tone as he could manage. Then, feeling a bit more confident, he added, "I don't think it's fair. CLU may be a System Administrator, but some of the tasks you gave him were outside his programming. Those tasks, I'm perfectly capable of handling. My question is why you gave him this much work when I'm here to take half - even most of it. Administrator or not, this is too much work for him to handle at once."

Flynn, as always, brushed it off. "That's why I gave him help. Sure, even as a System Administrator he can only do so much, but he's a big boy, Tron. He can do this. I trust him. Besides, he's done a good job keeping house while I'm gone..."

"That didn't answer my question," Tron briskly interrupted. But before Tron could elaborate, Flynn finished his ramble.

"He's capable of more than you think. I programmed him that way, after all. He can take a few hits and carry a lot on his shoulders. Not unlike you." Flynn grinned and patted Tron on the shoulder. At this point, Tron didn't know whether to feel relieved or annoyed.

"I still don't understand why you alleviated me of my duties," the Program suddenly snapped. "If CLU and I are equally as able, why does he have to take my load? You understand that this means I'll be abandoning my duties, don't you?"

Flynn frowned at the outburst, but he still remained relatively calm. "Whoa, whoa, easy on the attitude, buddy. Save it for the Gridbugs."

"I gladly will," Tron muttered bitterly, when he was suddenly slapped on the back by Flynn.

"Oh, lighten up, Tron!" Flynn suddenly exclaimed, causing Tron to look over at him. "Why are you always so serious? That's no way to receive a vacation!"

Tron was confused. "A 'vacation'?"

"A break, a day off," Flynn continued jubilantly. "Time to put yourself together, time to relax. Honestly, you look like you need one."

Tron wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing.

"And I know the perfect place," Flynn concluded, his eyes twinkling with a certain excitement that only Flynn had.

Tron already knew what Flynn was going to say. "I'm not going to the End of Line Club. It's noisy, it's crowded, and I hate it." Tron had accompanied Flynn there on multiple occasions. If Tron had a perception of Hell, it would have been quite similar to the bright and obnoxious End of Line Club.

"I know," Flynn replied. However, before Tron could roll his eyes and bury his head in his hands, the User continued, "That's why we're not going there."

Tron attempted to think of where else Flynn would want to take him on his 'vacation'.

"The Arena? Game Night isn't for another twenty microcycles."

Flynn laughed. "As a bonus, you don't have to play in the Games, either."

Tron stared at Flynn, only to receive another chortle in return.

"I'll explain it later," the User reassured the Program. "But, for now, get some rest, and meet me at the Docks in a millicycle. Trust me, you won't regret it."

Tron, although he still felt that Flynn hadn't answered his question, hoped he wouldn't.

* * *

A millicycle came and went since Flynn had told Tron about his "vacation". With most of the burden on CLU's shoulders, Tron felt... bored. Without Flynn's knowing, Tron did a few scans on his own every once in a while, and dealt with problems that would come up in his patrols. Every time Tron would see CLU, he felt guilty, even though the "vacation" wasn't his own fault. Tron still offered to help, but one of CLU's "assistants" would have already covered the task. Still, apologizing to CLU wasn't enough; Tron knew what Flynn didn't know about CLU: the System Administrator had always had a grudge against his Creator and the unfair way in which he went about handling "official" matters. Tron knew that this sudden burden didn't help his perspective of Flynn. Tron supposed he would have felt the same way if he didn't respect Flynn so much.

This was exactly what Tron was thinking as he walked down to the Solar Sailer docks where Flynn was, no doubt, waiting for him.

"Greetings, Program," Flynn welcomed with a grin.

"You wanted to take me to the Docks?" Tron asked him, raising an eyebrow. "With all due respect, Flynn, I don't see your motive in this."

Flynn only laughed again. "Don't jump to conclusions, Tron. You know what they say about people who assume."

Tron didn't.

However, Flynn shrugged it off. "It's no big deal, after all. Maybe if I told you what the surprise was, you'd be a little bit more excited to come," he added.

Tron's ears perked. "What surprise?" he asked, stepping closer to Flynn.

The User only chortled as he usually did. He really was having a grand time with this "vacation" thing. "Told ya. But you're still going to have to wait and see. We're going to take the Solar Sailer, over here." Flynn led Tron to a large Solar Sailer that had already been docked, waiting for its passengers.

As the Sailer rode on, Tron stood at the edge of the ship, looking down at the Sea below him. Below _them_, he and Flynn. Though Tron appreciated the attention Flynn was giving to him now (even though he wasn't sure CLU was enjoying it as much, and this was what scared him), the security Program couldn't help but wonder _why_. Usually, his reward for working with Flynn had been more work and the satisfaction of seeing the Grid thrive another microcycle. Unlike most of the other Programs who demanded entertainment and leisure for their efforts, Tron saw a System that was his to protect, his to guard and his to help survive. Without Tron, the System would collapse. The System - the Grid included - needed Tron as much as it needed Energy streams and stable ground. Why did Flynn suddenly not want that?

Tron looked out into the distance and finally realized where they were going.

"The Portal?" Tron suddenly asked, turning around to face Flynn, who was happily manning the controls. "We're going to the Portal?"

"Aye-aye, Captain!" Flynn replied, tapping a few more buttons before looking up at his friend. "Just as bright and shining today as ever, don't you think?"

Tron was filled with disappointment. All that buildup, and Flynn only wanted him to see the User off when he left? Tron almost let the disappointment show on his face, but he became optimistic. At least, with the nature of this "vacation", CLU wouldn't be as -

"We're almost there!" Flynn whooped, and despite the fact that Tron already knew how disappointing the "surprise" was going to be, he couldn't help but wonder what got Flynn so excited. This time, Tron noticed, Flynn was a lot... _bubblier_ than usual. Despite the disappointment, Tron couldn't help but think that Flynn's excitement was contagious.

Finally, the Sailer docked at its destination, and User and Program stepped off the ship and onto the island where the Portal awaited them. Tron's mind returned to when he had first come here with Flynn. He remembered how overwhelmed he had been at the sheer majesty of the Portal, and at first he couldn't fathom the great and mighty power it had in the Grid - and that it was in his presence, just within his grasp. Only when he was a great distance away from the Portal could Tron comprehend exactly how close but how far away the World of the Users - Tron figured he had better start calling it by its proper name, rather than "Flynn's World" - really was.

Tron followed Flynn up to the base of the Portal, where the majestic platform was in clear sight. User and Program both walked up the steps to the long bridge that separated Flynn from the way back to his World. Here, when Tron usually escorted Flynn, was where the Program usually stopped to let Flynn go ahead of him. Here was where Tron would say his goodbyes and watch Flynn leave. Here was where he stopped once again and waited for Flynn to pass him by and go ahead to the Portal, all promise of a 'surprise' or 'vacation' immediately disappearing.

This time, indeed, Flynn walked past him and kept going, leaving Tron to watch and wonder, but before Flynn became bathed in the Energy the Portal undoubtedly gave, he suddenly stopped and turned around to face Tron. With a wide grin on his face, Flynn asked the unexpected.

"Well? Aren't you coming?"


	4. Paradiso: II

**II**

For a few impossible moments, Tron was breathless. He froze in place, on the opposite side of the bridge, for once having no clue what to do or say. He even wondered if he had heard Flynn correctly, or if the rush of the Portal was starting to consume his hearing and comprehension.

"Aren't you coming?" Flynn asked again, confirming that Tron had, indeed, heard him correctly. "This baby's not going to stay open forever, and the longer we stand here, the less you'll get to see!"

"The less of-?" Tron asked dumbly; he had to yell over the noise the Portal made. "What? Me?"

"Yes, you!" Flynn exclaimed loudly with a joyous laugh in his voice. "What, do you think I'm talking to Zuse? C'mon, man!" Flynn gave a big gesture with his arm, inviting Tron forward. However, the Program was hesitant.

"It's your lucky day, man!" Flynn added when he felt Tron had been standing on the other side for too long. "It's everything you ever dreamed, and like nothing you've ever imagined!"

Tron considered this for a moment, and he was almost tempted to run up to join Flynn at the Portal. However, Tron was starting to have second thoughts. So this was the "vacation" Flynn was offering him: a chance to finally see the esteemed "World of the Users" for himself? It sounded too good to be true, mainly because it was. There would no doubt be some unanticipated consequence of this journey, and it would either affect the World of the Users itself or the Grid... or possibly both. Whatever it was, Tron wasn't sure if it was _right_ for him to be able to travel between Worlds, to see what he hadn't been able to see before. To learn what had been kept a secret from him for his entire life. Tron couldn't help but to think there was a _reason_ that Programs and Users were kept separate like this; that some knowledge, especially obtained from great and powerful deities like the Users, was best kept sealed away from those unworthy of knowing.

"I don't think I should!" Tron shouted back with a waver in his voice that Flynn might or might not have heard. "It's not right! It's not where I'm meant to be!"

Flynn only laughed, and his laugh became so loud, it turned into a whoop. "That's not the point, man! Doesn't matter where you're meant to be or what you're meant to do!" He held his arms out for emphasis. "You think you're just a security Program, but you're not! You're my best friend, not just my friend's best Program. You're Tron, man! And even though that doesn't matter to you now because you think you're just a Program, it'll matter soon. Because, even though in here, I've treated you like just a Program, out there," Flynn pointed behind him at the Portal, "you're going to be what you should have been to me all along: my best friend!" Flynn then extended his hand toward Tron on the other side of the bridge, before concluding, "And friendship isn't programmed. Friendship is found."

Tron took what Flynn said and put it deep in his core. It took a while for him to process, but it soon sank in. The security Program hadn't noticed until now how much he truly meant to Flynn, both as a partner and as a friend.

_I didn't know because he didn't __**show**_ _me,_ Tron realized. For all this time, Tron thought Flynn had been okay with the master-servant relationship they seemed to have; Tron knew he was, but he didn't think he had any other choice in the matter. However, it hadn't occurred to Tron that Flynn wasn't from a World of masters and servants. Flynn was from a World of equals. As scandalous as it seemed...

Flynn was giving him the chance to be the equal he deserved to be. This, Tron understood, but it was the fact that _Flynn_ of all people was making this offer. Flynn, the User most of the Programs of the Grid respected as the Creator. The Creator, because everyone and everything had been made by Flynn's hand; everything but Tron. It was strange, being the only Program of his kind; with a different User and a different perspective, one that Flynn had seen for himself when they had first met back in the ENCOM System. Was that why Flynn wanted to view Tron as an equal instead of simply a Program? Tron supposed it made sense, but not to him.

Now that Tron had pondered Flynn's motives, he took another moment to ponder the offer itself. There, in front of him, was the way to the World of the Users, and Flynn was giving him the key. All Tron had to do was take it, and the two of them would be in a World far away from the Grid, far from everything Tron had come to know. And what Flynn had said about friendship...

It was exciting, but it was terrifying at the same time. Tron _wanted_ to explore. He _wanted_ to learn secrets about the Users. However, he was worried about what was going to happen to the Grid in his absence. After all, Flynn had been disappearing for millicycles - sometimes, even longer - at a time; who knew how long Tron would be gone? As if he had seen the concerned expression on the Program's face and read his mind like a book, Flynn attempted to reassure his friend.

"It's going to be alright," Flynn stated in a last attempt to convince Tron to come with him. "If there's anything wrong, I'll take care of it from the outside. You'll be surprised to see the perks of being a User." He grinned, although Tron couldn't see his smile from where he was. "Besides, CLU and his boys will handle everything. You can kick back for once in your life. Relax. You earned it, buddy." He paused for a moment, before his expression grew more serious. "Ain't got much time left, man. If you're not coming, I'm going to go myself. Last chance, man."

Last chance... this was Tron's one opportunity to change his life, to answer every question he'd ever had, and more. If he missed it now... these questions would plague him for the rest of his life. Even though Tron questioned whether or not he was meant to know the secrets of the Users, he knew that he had been _chosen_ to know. It was very likely that no other Program had been given such an opportunity; Tron sensed that he was the only Program with such a close and personal relationship with a User who was not his own. He also sensed that Flynn was the only User with such a close and personal relationship with a Program who was not his own. The two of them shared a unique friendship, one that no User or Program would ever be able to fully understand.

One that, in moments, would stretch between Worlds.

Tron's mind was set. Against his better judgment, he began to walk across the bridge, one armored foot in front of the other, toward the Portal. At first, he walked stiff-leggedly, hesitantly to the other side of the bridge, fully aware that he didn't completely know what he was going to find on the other side. However, with every few steps he took farther and farther away from the safety of the Grid, the more sure of himself he became. As he left the Grid behind, Tron's pace grew quicker, becoming more and more ready to accept this unique opportunity he had been given.

_You're only useful when you know how to do things other than what you were meant to do_, Tron remembered Flynn saying to him, and although Flynn's motives in taking Tron away from the Grid and what he was programmed to do was questionable, it made sense in a way. Though Tron had grown accustomed to the dark and had learned to live in it, Tron still lived in the dark, in his own perception of the two - or perhaps more? - Worlds. It wasn't that Flynn didn't want Tron to fulfill his objective and his duties toward the System; it was that Flynn didn't want Tron to be _limited_. He felt the Program deserved better, and Tron respected that. He had very much respect for Flynn.

Sooner than he had expected, Tron had arrived at the Portal beside Flynn. Before he looked to see Flynn smiling warmly at him, Tron looked over his shoulder at the bridge he had left behind; at the Grid he had left behind. As Flynn had pointed out that this was Tron's last chance to leave the Grid to visit the World of the Users, this was also his last chance to turn back. After this, nothing he saw could be unseen. Nothing he learned could be forgotten. There was always the lingering thought that perhaps there were some things not meant to be learned by Programs.

But there was only one way to find out for sure.

Satisfied with his last look at the World he was leaving behind, Tron stepped into the Portal, feeling the Energy rush that he had wondered about for so long. Tron closed his eyes and felt the rush, the stream of power ascending upward. In moments, they both would be converted to particles, both racing upward at the same pace. At least, that's how Tron thought it worked, from what he had read of Flynn's blueprints for its upgrade.

"Ready?" Flynn asked, causing Tron to open his eyes and look over at the User. He was holding his Disc - the key - at the ready.

Tron nodded in his direction, making his reply as firm and confident as he felt. "Ready."

It was then that Flynn raised his Disc above his head - as Tron had done in the I/O Towers many times in the past - and both User and Program watched as it was released, and it began to soar higher and higher along the beam of the Portal, farther and farther away from them.

Then, it began.

Tron only had a moment to anxiously anticipate the portal transmission. For that moment, he thought he was going to get the same rush of Energy as he had while standing at the Portal's base with Flynn. He was wrong.

It had been much easier for Flynn, although Tron was not aware of this. Flynn, on his first visit to the ENCOM System, had the experience of having his own User system reduced to a mere data stream, which he barely felt at all. Returning home had a slightly bigger impact on the User's body, with the aforementioned data stream expanding back into the state it had been in before, but Flynn had been numb to most of it from being in the MCP's beam. In addition, through his constant trips to the Grid and back, Flynn had become accustomed to the odd feeling of his inner system and anatomy retracting and expanding. This was nothing new for him.

For Tron, however, it was different. His body had spent cycles and cycles as a simple data stream, a mess of circuitry, simply part of the System. To have his anatomy suddenly expand, to have it grow in different parts and become substance, to suddenly gain all Users took for granted all at once, and to have all these things suddenly materialize within him... it was unfathomable, and Tron didn't ever want to fathom it again.

It started on the back of his neck, just between his shoulders. It felt like he was being cut open from the inside, all the way down his back, slower and slower as progress was made. Even in his suspended Nothing state, Tron wanted to writhe, to kick and scream and dismount whatever foul creature had its hold on him. However, it was no creature Tron ever knew. As soon as the painful slicing feeling reached his waist, it branched out, encasing his legs, slowly trailing down to his ankles and feet. Tron kicked and flailed, failing to understand anything that was going on. At the same time, it was happening to his arms and hands, and Tron was powerless against it. Every part of him that he had felt being sliced open from the inside had ached, and ached strongly. Though it numbed soon, there was still that lingering sting from what had previously been just coding.

Tron felt a tight feeling in his chest; it felt like something large had grabbed him from behind, its large spindly fingers slowly slithering along his torso, getting a secure hold on his chest before attempting to pull him closer to it. He attempted to gasp for air, to reassure himself he was still alive, but he couldn't breathe. Kicking and flailing and coughing and choking only made the transformation more painful. And that feeling in his chest... Tron felt like he was being squeezed to death, if he had ever been able to comprehend such a thing.

However, all the pain in his chest didn't mask the fact that it seemed like there was something _growing _inside him. Something that, for whatever reason, had taken root in his chest and began to branch out. Its roots expanded, crept all over his body, even to places Tron didn't know he had. It temporarily distracted him from the slicing pain, but the distraction wouldn't last long. Growth after growth, Tron felt in his chest, and these growths took root and spread as well, only not as far and as much as the first one. He felt the growths continue to swell, some of them almost seeming to burst out of his chest and upper gut. There was much weight added to his body, so much that Tron almost felt like he was going to sink back to the Grid...

The slicing feeling returned, but this time, it shot up the back of Tron's neck, completely encasing his head. The pain in his head (not just his forehead, but in all sides and parts of his head) was so great that Tron felt as though it was going to overwhelm him. For some reason, it made him choke more, and ironically, struggling to breathe had briefly distracted his focus from the massive pain in his head. The art of suffering had its cruel sense of humor.

Though Tron was not aware of this at first, his Disc had began to disintegrate. The particles it left behind were absorbed into his back, were converted to data, and shot up the back of his neck into what had once been the nucleus of this humanoid mess of circuitry, where coordinates and calculations and kinetic control were made. Knowledge, memory, and motion, they all became one thing in one place. The Disc was no longer necessary, just a crutch.

Only then did Tron realize he had closed his eyes in an vain attempt to block out the pain. He opened again, only to see that his armor, the only skin he had ever known, was beginning to melt off. It became a thick black liquid, creeping down his body and dripping off his arms, fingers, and feet. Where his armor used to be, there was now a soft, fleshy, pale skin made up of millions of tiny circuits entwined and bonded together, creating the fragile network of Energy streams that kept the Program alive. The light of the Portal reflected off the Energy streams of Tron's full circuitry, creating a brief display of an ethereal sparkle that would never be seen again by mortal eyes. However, the marvelous display vanished as quickly as it came as another layer materialized - a skin -, covering the circuitry like a shroud and wrapping securely around the Program's (was he a Program anymore? As of now, he wasn't quite sure what he was) body, once again giving him that squeezing, strangling feeling.

There was still the slicing feeling in some parts of him... and the feeling that whatever was growing inside his chest was going to burst out and explode... and the massive pain in his head as knowledge and data merged together... and there was this.

All of this happened in simply moments. Merely a few blinks of the eye.

Suddenly, it was all over. Tron grew numb. Tron no longer felt any pain. Tron no longer felt the rush of Energy that came with being in the Portal.

And everything went black.


	5. Paradiso: III

[Normally, I'm not one to post Author's Notes, but I just wanted to thank you guys for the follows and favs and the kind reviews! I'll try my best to keep up with the update demand~]

**III**

Flynn paced nervously back and forth in his small "apartment" in the Arcade. He wasn't usually this nervous about anything; at least, he didn't show it to anyone. Now, however, there were plenty of reasons to be nervous, and if he _could_ admit his current worries to anyone, he _would_ have. What if Tron hadn't survived? It wasn't as if Flynn had tested the Portal with Programs before. He didn't know if there would be any unexpected side effects while putting a Program through the Portal. The worst side effect Flynn could think of was death, and as soon as this thought crossed his mind, Flynn immediately regretted his decision to bring Tron into the real world. How ironic was it that his attempt to be a better friend would end up killing the very person he wanted to make amends with? It was like something he had read in a book once, a long time ago, but Flynn couldn't be bothered to remember what it was. After all, he had many more important things on his mind at the moment.

Flynn froze where he was and slowly turned toward the back of the room. It wouldn't hurt to have one more check, although Flynn had checked almost every five minutes for nearly three hours. Three hours... that's how long it had been. However, it seemed to go on for days...

He walked toward his bed, a sort of reverence in every slow step he took. Now was not the time for happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care Flynn. It was funny how this part of his personality seemed to know when to disappear and when to resurface when necessary. However, all of Flynn understood the severity as he approached his bed to get a closer look.

The bed where, covered from shoulders to does with a large blanket Flynn had found, Tron lay, still as a corpse.

_He's been like this for three hours, _Flynn thought as he seated himself in the chair he'd set up at his friend's bedside. _I hope he's alright._

If Tron was breathing, Flynn didn't see it. If Flynn didn't know better, he would have assumed Tron was dead. However, he was smart enough to check his friend's pulse for any sign of recovery... or, at the very least, life. This was exactly what he did; laying his fingertips at the base of Tron's neck, Flynn attempted to sense some form of a pulse.

_Thump... Thump... Thump..._

It was so low of a pulse, Flynn didn't think it was humanly possible to have. Then again, Tron wasn't human. Or hadn't been. For once in a long time, Flynn didn't know what to do.

_At least it's a little faster than before, _Flynn reminded himself, attempting to remain optimistic. He removed his hand from Tron's neck and simply watched his friend, how Tron didn't seem to react to anything he did.

But he wasn't dead. Ever so gradually, he was getting a pulse. Flynn needed to remain optimistic.

It was all he had.

Seeing a doctor was out of the question, Flynn had concluded when he had first noticed something wrong with Tron upon their arrival. If by some miracle, Tron survived, he would be a living, breathing scientific breakthrough. If there were tests that proved he wasn't of human origin... Flynn didn't know what would happen then. Flynn admitted he hadn't thought of this part when he first had the idea o bring Tron through the Portal, but at the same time, this had been impossible to expect. If Tron died, Flynn would have lost a very good Program and his best friend from a very stupid decision he had made. If Tron lived, Flynn would have to be extremely careful not to make _another_ very stupid decision that could lose him his friend forever.

It was a lot of pressure.

Call Alan? Flynn checked his clock: 2:15 AM. Alan was probably asleep; Flynn would have called earlier, but he assumed Alan was still at work. Flynn respected the fact that Alan was one of the more dedicated ENCOM employees, and he didn't want to mess anything up for his friend.

That meant Flynn had to handle everything himself.

Another hour passed, and Flynn continued to check up on Tron. His friend still wasn't awake, but his pulse still gradually grew closer to a normal rate. After some time, Flynn gave up for the night. He knew he should have woken up every half hour or so to check on Tron again, but Flynn was too tired. Lying down on his couch, Flynn simply went to sleep, all the while fighting the urge to see how Tron was doing.

When Flynn woke up that morning, Tron was breathing.

He was still unresponsive, and he was still more pale than what was healthy, but Flynn was overjoyed by Tron's sudden sign of health anyway. It had taken a little more than eight hours, but it was still progress, and a sign that Tron was going to be alright. However, it made Flynn more anxious for Tron to wake up.

Flynn ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner; he opened the Arcade and closed the Arcade, but nothing had changed with Tron. He was still less corpse-like, but now it seemed like he was in a very deep sleep.

Flynn didn't feel like kissing Tron anytime soon, either.

He gave in and called Alan, leaving him a message saying to stop by the Arcade _immediately_ after he got the message. Whether Tron was going to pull through or not, Flynn needed the Program's User there to most likely help out and/or yell at him for being so reckless and immature with such a ridiculous and risky idea.

Knowing Alan, it was probably going to be both, with a lot more of the latter.

Flynn glanced out of the corner of his eye at the clock. 12:30 AM. Tron had been unconscious for almost an entire day. The sensible part of Flynn wondered about Tron's health, as now that the Program was apparently human, the necessities for survival were quite different, starting at the fact that there _were _necessities for survival to begin with.

The gears began turning in the more scientific part of his mind (the time he had spent at Cal Tech had been good for at least something) as he sat beside the bed again and carefully observed the slow, subtle motions that his unconscious friend went through. The rise and fall of his chest that became closer and closer to normal rate with every hour that passed... the slow and almost silent sound of Tron's breathing... and his pulse, which Flynn had just checked; it was closer now to normal, too, which was a good sign that Tron was probably going to wake up soon. Flynn took a moment to wonder as he observed his friend carefully; what exactly had caused this effect on Tron after he went through the Portal? He knew the Portal and the transfer between Worlds was what had caused it, but what did the transfer _do_ that made Tron unconscious? As much as Flynn liked to pretend he was sometimes, he wasn't a scientist. He was a computer programmer, and programmers didn't deal with the human body and its anatomy too often. That, Flynn knew, was best reserved for a doctor or nurse or surgeon or drug dealer or what have you.

_None of which I can get my hands on at the moment, _Flynn remembered. He only had Alan, who was hopefully on his way by now, and Alan was a hell of a lot smarter than Flynn was.

At least, when the situation called for it. Flynn still prided himself in being a genius.

It was almost 1:30 when Flynn finally heard something coming from the b ed. It was relatively soft at first, but Flynn could have heard Tron groaning. Jumping up from the couch and racing over to the bed, Flynn arrived just in time to see Tron stir.

* * *

There was a strong lack of heat in Tron's body.

It was the first thing he noticed when he came to. For some reason, there was no longer a constant flow of Energy in Tron's body, so there was naturally a lack of heat. Tron felt himself shivering as he tried to move, to get feeling back in his body as he attempted to explore his immediate surroundings. Everything around him was soft to the touch. Anything he could brush his hands and fingertips against was soft. Even his body was relatively soft, but it also had lack-of-heat, which caused him to shiver more. Tron suddenly knew better than to touch things with lack-of-heat.

"Tron? ...Tron? You awake, buddy?"

That was Flynn's voice. Tron recognized it immediately. He fought to open his eyes, but the brightness of the room he was in temporarily blinded him. Tron squinted, attempted to get at least some degree of his vision back, and listened to Flynn react to his movement.

"Hey! Turns out you made it in one piece, huh? How do you feel?"

Tron blinked a few times, before finally seeing a blurry figure standing over him, whom he assumed to be Flynn.

"Made...? What...? Huh...?" Tron drowsily asked. His mind and memory had been frazzled by the transfer; for the moment, all he remembered of it were bright lights and lots of pain...

Flynn paused for a moment, before softly reminding him, "The Portal? I took you through." The blurry figure lowered himself; he was now seated. "You wanted to come."

Though this did not completely help the scrambling of Tron's memory, he at least remembered this. Oh, yes, he had had trouble deciding whether or not it would have been best for him to come through the portal and whether or not it was right for him to be in the...

_The World of the Users._

Still only half there, Tron dumbly asked, "Did I make it?"

Flynn nodded, before replying, "Yeah. You're here."

Tron blinked a few more times, and his vision began to clear. He saw Flynn's face and recognized it, but was slightly confused at how the User looked outside of the Grid.

"You look different." In his daze, Tron pointed out the painfully obvious.

Flynn, relieved by his friend's apparent health, only laughed. "You're the one telling me I look different? You're the one looking pretty odd there without your armor."

Tron looked down at himself; he couldn't see most of his body because it was covered by a thick, dark blue piece of material (which was also soft, now that he felt it), but he saw the outline of his body - where his torso, arms, and feet were, for instance - and he saw and felt his arms move as he stirred.

"However, you can't keep that blanket on forever," Flynn added, and Tron looked down at the "blanket" before looking back at Flynn. "We're going to have to get you some clothes sooner or later. Hopefully you wear my size, since it's not like I can take you shopping right now."

Tron was confused, even more so now than with just his scrambled memory. "Clothes...? Shopping, what...?"

However, Flynn wasn't listening, too absorbed in his speech. "Hell, even my bathrobe will work at this point. For the love of God, you find two guys in a room, one of them's in his birthday suit on the other one's bed... not much explaining the guys can do!"

However, before Tron had a chance to inquire exactly what Flynn meant, both of them heard someone coming up the stairs. Out of fear and confusion, Tron's instincts told him to hide, and he found shelter under the "blanket" that covered his lack-of-heated body. Quickly, without entirely knowing what he was doing, Tron curled up, making himself seem smaller. He was never comfortable with using so feeble of a defense technique, but for some reason now, he instantly felt _safer_.

As Tron hid, he heard Flynn talking and... someone else.

"Glad you could make it," Flynn was saying. "I, uh, really appreciate the help."

"It's no problem," another voice replied, one that was startlingly familiar to Tron. "I'm sorry I'm so late. Had a late night at work, had to get a project done. I'm a little tired, but you said it was an emergency, so..."

"It kind of is," Flynn explained. "You see, I kind of proposed a little experiment, and..."

"And you did something stupid and screwed it up," came the blunt reply. Why was that voice so familiar?

Flynn hesitated. "It might seem stupid at first, but it was for a good cause, and I would say that, despite the setbacks, it turned out to be relatively successful. And I think that, once you see how everything turned out, you'll be pretty impressed by-"

"I thought you said this was an emergency," the voice interrupted, seeming to be fed up with Flynn's method of "explaining" the situation.

Flynn paused for a moment, before sighing, "When I called you, he was unconscious."

"He?"

Tron suddenly knew they were now talking about him. He curled up just a little tighter.

"Well... my friend."

"Your friend?" the voice sounded skeptical.

Flynn paused for several moments, long enough to make Tron consider poking his head out and seeing what was going on. However, before Tron got the chance to do so, Flynn spoke again: "Remember my Grid project?"

Tron held his breath. Flynn mentioned the Grid!

"How can I not?" the voice replied. "You go on and on about it all the time."

"Well-" Flynn started, but the voice interrupted him.

"You didn't!" the other voice suddenly exclaimed in a very harsh tone.

"What else could I do?" Flynn attempted to defend himself. "I can't just leave him there his entire life. He's my friend!"

Tron was now positive they were talking about him. He listened more carefully, but he didn't move a muscle.

"Flynn, do you have any idea how dangerous this is? Especially for him?" the voice continued. "You may think this is a good thing that you're doing, but actually _think_ about what you've done! You're not bringing home a stray puppy and asking if you can keep it. If your book is anything to go by, this is a _biodigital life form. _Do I have to spell it out for you? If word spreads and information about your little pet falls into the wrong hands, then it's _game over _for both of you, especially him."

Tron felt like he was personally being scolded, but he didn't know why.

Suddenly, there was no hesitation in Flynn's reply. "You think I don't know that?!" he yelled defensively, which made Tron flinch. "Why the hell do you think I called you, Alan?!"

Tron froze.

Alan.

Alan.

_Alan._

_**Alan.**_

Tron was so stunned by the revelation, he didn't know how to react. He never thought he would have been able to meet his User, but if he did, he certainly never expected to be under these circumstances. That was why the voice sounded so familiar. Of course, Tron realized, it sounded like his own, but at the time, he didn't know _why_. Suddenly, it came back to him; he hadn't heard that voice for many, many cycles. After leaving the ENCOM System, he never expected to hear it again.

Especially not now.

"And besides, Alan," Flynn added, a little calmer and gentler now, "What you said about '_my_ pet'... That's not entirely true."

For a few moments, Alan - Alan One - didn't respond. For a few moments that seemed like a million cycles long... there was silence. A silence so prevalent, both Users would have been able to hear the faint rustle of a blanket as Tron adjusted his position.

And they did.

"He's over here," Flynn softly whispered to Alan One as Tron heard them both approaching. Tron couldn't hear Alan One speaking anymore; he almost wondered if his User had left. However, Tron was partially reassured by the hesitant tone of his own User's voice.

"In your bed?" Alan One asked, his voice sounding louder than before.

"Mm-hmm," Flynn replied. "He must have gotten spooked when you came in. I've never seen him act that way before. Must be part of being human."

Being _hu-man. _Was that what it was called? Forcing himself to feel more confident about the situation, Tron uncurled, attempting to peek over the edge of the "blanket". Unfortunately, Alan One's back was turned to Tron as he was speaking with Flynn.

"And you did this to...?" Alan One trailed off, but Flynn seemed to understand what he meant.

"I was thinking of him," Flynn replied softly, "and I was also thinking of you."

Suddenly, Alan One didn't seem so confident and condemning anymore. He turned back toward where Tron was hiding, and Tron immediately ducked back down. Did he want Alan One to see him? Yes, but not like this. Perhaps he should have invested in that "bathrobe" Flynn had mentioned earlier.

Curling up again, Tron could do nothing else but wait until Alan One eventually discovered him. Had he ever felt this helpless in his life? Not that he could remember. Perhaps it was all a part of being in this strange new World, being "hu-man" as Flynn had put it, where he had no means of defending himself (there wasn't the familiar weight on his back of a Disc for some strange reason) and no means of knowing what was going to happen to him. However, Tron knew three things for sure: he was in the World of the Users, his body had lack-of-heat, and for the first time in many cycles, Tron was genuinely scared.

Tron tightly shut his eyes as he felt the "blanket" move.

"Tron?" he heard his User softly call his name, as if he somehow sensed how terrified his Program was. "Tron?"

Tron's surroundings became bright again, and when he opened his eyes, the eyes of User and Program met for the first time.

* * *

The discarded blanket fell to the floor, although Alan had a feeling he would need it again later.

"A-Alan One," came the timid reply.

Alan was looking into the face of his younger self, from almost exactly five years ago. It was strange how uncanny the resemblance was; it was almost like looking into a mirror. The only difference between the younger Alan and Tron, however, was that Tron was curled up in front of him, eyes wide, terrified, and slightly curious, his body as fresh and pure as if he had only just left the womb.

Looking into those scared and confused dark green eyes, Alan regretted never having the chance to have a child with Lora. Even before he had met his wife, Alan had always thought about what it would have been like to hold his newborn child, to see vibrant life for the first time and know that he was responsible for creating that life. Though Alan now knew that this would be impossible, with Lora's job in DC, he still felt the paternal instinct he had been curious about for years. He felt like Lora was still there with him, and they lived a long and happy life together. When Alan looked into the eyes of his creation, he saw the American Dream; a wife, children, a nice house, something and someone to come home to every night...

Not caring whether Flynn was still there watching them or not, Alan seated himself in the chair Flynn had set up at the bedside. His Program's eyes followed every move he made, not knowing whether to be in awe or frightened. Gently, Alan reached over to touch Tron's cheek. The Program shied away at first, but soon he reveled in his User's touch. Tron's skin was soft - inhumanly soft -, undamaged by the horrors of the world. Tron closed his eyes as Alan's fingertips trailed down his face, becoming oddly comfortable with what was happening. It seemed that even though they had been worlds apart for their entire lives, one still recognized the other's presence and acknowledged it.

"Can you sit up?" Alan softly asked his creation.

Tron seemed to hesitate for a moment, before uncurling, rolling onto his belly, and bringing himself to his knees with very slow, precise movements that Alan couldn't help but admire. Alan sat on the bed beside his Program and smiled at him, hoping to make him feel more at ease. At first glance, the two of them would have looked more like brothers than father and son.

"It's not fair," Flynn piped up from the couch on the other side of the room, having known that this was a moment best shared between Tron and Alan alone, "for only one Program on the Grid to have never met his User."

However, Alan didn't listen, and Tron didn't seem to acknowledge him, either. Alan slowly wrapped his arms around the smooth baby skin of his Program, his creation, his child, and pulled him closer, making Tron feel for the first time in a very long time like he was _home_. After Flynn's comment, there was silence in the room. There was silence all around them, as if the world knew to remain still for this moment. The bright lights of the city outside, the night owls of Los Angeles passing by every few seconds, crime and danger in the shadier parts of the city, something going wrong with a project at work, a missed call from Lora, causing her to say good night to his answering machine... none of that mattered now. The world stood still around them, centered around them for just that moment. That moment where two beings, father and child, became united through love, as if they had never been separated in the first place.


	6. Paradiso: IV

**IV**

****"Flynn, you know he can't live on his own."

Tron still felt Alan One's warm, loving embrace long after his User had let go of him; put him to "bed"; covered him with "sheets" that were like a "blanket" but much, much warmer; and gave him the command to "sleep". At first, Tron hadn't been sure what Alan One had meant by "sleep", but with how drained he felt from the transfer between Worlds, Tron had assumed it had come fairly easily to him. Tron knew this because in a sudden burst of drowsiness, he had closed his eyes... only to open them again at the sound of his User's voice. His User, who was apparently talking about him. Tron channeled some of his Energy (if he had any, as he couldn't see any circuitry on his _hu-man_ body) into sitting up, curious to hear Alan One and Flynn's conversation, though he doubted he would understand much of it.

"He can't live on his own, Flynn," Alan One repeated, unaware that the subject of their conversation just happened to be eavesdropping. "Do you seriously expect him to be able to function like a normal human being in a matter of seconds? He may be a Program - a _biodigital life form_, as your book puts it - but I can already tell he's not a supercomputer."

"Tron's a smart guy," Flynn countered. "He can figure it out. If anyone should know that, it's you, Alan."

"I created Tron as a security Program," Alan One replied, and Tron could have sworn that Alan One was reluctant to admit this to himself. "I... never expected him to be a living being. A _sentient_ being. I never expected him to be able to know and to think and to be able to comprehend. I never expected him to... _be_."

If Tron was aware of his own heart at the time, he would have known that it sank at that very comment. So Alan One didn't expect him to be _alive_? It didn't make sense. Why would Alan One create him if-?

"I know how you feel, Alan," Flynn reassured his friend. "But still, I spent more time with Tron than... well, you know," Flynn improvised, not knowing how exactly to word the fact that he had actually spent time _with_ Tron, "and he's a good guy. If he wasn't, I wouldn't have brought him here. But he's smart, he'll learn quickly."

"How quickly?" Alan One asked, his harsh tone from earlier returning. "He's going to have to eat at some point, you know."

'Eat'? What was 'eat'? Tron hoped it wouldn't hurt him.

"Of course," Flynn mused. "Since he's pretty much human now, he's got all of the inner workings of- That's it!"

"What's it?" Alan asked skeptically.

"The reason Tron was out for so long... He's been a Program, so of course, his anatomy is made up of data streams... to have all these inner systems and doohickeys popping up out of nowhere..."

Inner Systems? Tron wondered if there were any Programs there.

"Hold up, Einstein," Alan One suddenly cut Flynn off. "Before you go off shouting 'Eureka!', remember our little problem earlier?"

Flynn paused for a moment, before nodding. "Yeah. Keep mum about the Program, or I may as well have a pregnant martian in my bed."

Tron hoped "pregnant martian" was a form of a strange User compliment.

"Which leads me to my next concern," Alan One continued. "Who's he going to stay with?"

"If it's that big of a deal, I won't keep him here for long," Flynn replied, which made Tron frown. "Let him recover, maybe show him around for a day or so, and then send him home like nothing happened. Program's safe and happy, the world's still in one piece, and the Big Kahuna of ENCOM can-"

"That's all well and good, Flynn, but you're assuming nothing happens," Alan One replied, almost looking disappointed that, conceptually, Tron's stay in the World of the Users would be very brief. "What if he wants to stay?"

Flynn scoffed, but Alan One insisted.

"No, really. You need to consider the possibility that Tron's going to see or do something he really likes, that he likes _enough_ to want to stay with us instead of going home. It happens all the time in books..."

"Alan, man, come on!" Flynn exclaimed. "Tron may have a taste for the finer things in life, but he knows where his priorities are. If anything, he'd be overjoyed to go back to his work."

"I'll take care of him," Alan One firmly stated, and Tron's heart leaped. "If you happen to be wrong and he does want to stay, I'll take care of him until he learns how to take care of himself. Of course, that would lead me to think of an alias and an alibi..."

"Alan," Flynn calmly stated, smirking, "I don't think you heard me. Tron knows how vital he is to the Grid. He knows that if the Grid loses him, there may as well be no more Grid. Seriously, man, why would he _want_ to leave the Grid? It's all he has," Flynn casually added.

Although they were hidden under all of the "sheets", Tron clenched his fists.

_I have a lot more than just the Grid, _he thought, although he said nothing. _I have the memories of my past and the hopes of my future._

Alan One paused for a moment, before admitting, "You're right. I'm sorry, I just... I feel bad that I won't really get to spend any time with him. This is... probably the last time I'm going to see him, anyway."

In a strange phenomenon that the former Program could understand no more than he did the transformation, Tron felt Alan One's love pull him closer, although Tron's body didn't move. He felt the ghost of the embrace become tighter, warmer, more vivid than before.

_He's going to miss me_, Tron realized, before quietly sinking back down into "bed", warming himself with the "sheets" once again and laying his head on the very soft "pillow" behind him. He closed his eyes as if he had never woken up in the first place and he wanted to drift off again, but a presence nearby stopped him. Tron felt a gentle hand on his head, stroking his hair and attempting to bring back as much of the warm embrace as it could.

Tron heard a voice in his ear, a voice that wanted to change the future but knew all too well about the inevitable parting.

"I will never forget you," whispered the voice, before Tron felt a warm, dry kiss on the side of his forehead.


	7. Paradiso: V

**V**

When Tron woke up again, Alan One was gone.

"Had to go to work," Flynn casually explained when Tron had asked him. "Someone needs to keep ENCOM on its toes, after all. Especially since I decided to spend the week off."

Tron took this in as slowly as he could manage. "Alan One... has work? Of his own?"

Flynn chuckled. "Well, you don't think he's the kind of guy who sits around at home all the time, do you?" he asked in reply.

Tron didn't think so.

"He'll probably be back tonight, when you're asleep," Flynn added, moving to help Tron out of the bed. "Ah, right, clothes."

Now feeling the surge of modesty that he should have felt a long time ago, Tron sat on the edge of the "bed" and grabbed the "blanket" from earlier before figuring out a way to wrap it around himself so that he could stay warm and be comfortable. Tron watched as Flynn turned around to walk away, apparently to a different part of the room. He seemed to be looking for something, although Tron didn't know what it was until Flynn had found it.

"Oh, good morning, by the way," Flynn added, before tossing a few pieces of strange material at Tron. Tron, with the "blanket" around his shoulders, struggled to find a way to grab the material in order to look at it closer.

"How long has it been?" Tron asked, finally finding a way to free his arms (it caused the cocoon of warmth to fall off, something he would have to figure out at a later time).

"A little over a day," Flynn replied, walking over to the bed to help Tron with the material. "You were out for most of yesterday. I got worried, and that's how I had come to call Alan. You slept for a few hours after that, though, so you should have at least some of your energy back."

The only words Tron understood of that reply were "Alan" and "energy". Looking vaguely at Flynn, he repeated, "How long has it been?"

"A while," Flynn corrected himself, seeing his mistake. "Not cycles long, but still a while." He chuckled as he helped slide one of the material fragments over Tron's head. "Hell, Alan was right. You really do have a lot to learn."

Tron struggled for a few moments, before his head finally popped through the hole in the material. Shaking his head, Tron now switched his attention to getting his arms through their holes as well, although at this point it looked more like the former Program was struggling in a straitjacket. Flynn laughed as he helped his friend, and Tron couldn't help but to feel embarrassed.

"It's okay," Flynn reassured him as he smoothed out the material covering Tron's torso. "I can't expect you to know everything right away."

Tron looked down at his chest that had once been bare but was now covered with... something. His eyes soon followed Flynn as the User went to grab something else.

"So," Tron mused, thinking about what Flynn had said earlier. "Alan One will be back?" Flynn had handed him a different material of a different shape, and Tron had attempted to put this over his head as well, as that was apparently how these materials worked.

"Tonight," Flynn replied, before correcting himself, "Later, really. But that means we have the day to ourselves." Flynn couldn't help but to snicker at the fact that Tron's vision had been partially obscured due to the material not completely fitting over his head.

Tron turned his head several different ways, attempting to figure out why he couldn't see.

"How long is that?" he asked, before figuring out that there was something in front of his eyes and he had to get it out of the way before he would be able to see. He pulled at it, but it didn't seem to help for long.

"Well, I..." Flynn started, before helping Tron pull the material off his head. "I've never - your legs go in there, Tron - I've never really had to explain a day before."

With Flynn's help, Tron finally managed to figure out the different material. Apparently, it was worn around his waist and covered the upper part of his legs. It also made him feel less embarrassed for reasons he could not completely understand.

"You don't explain it to anyone?" Tron asked, although his attention was less on Flynn and more on his feet and why they were no longer covered in solid black armor.

"I don't have to," Flynn replied, which made Tron frown. "Not usually, anyway. I think you'll be able to tell how long a day is."

Tron looked up, his gaze falling on the clock on the wall. The clock was a relatively familiar structure, but in the World of the Users, it was significantly different than he had remembered it to be.

"It is..." Tron mused, before guessing, "twelve millicycles?"

Flynn chuckled, before crossing to the other side of the room to get yet another material. "Don't think too hard, buddy. You'll be able to tell when the time comes."

When the time comes? What did that mean? Tron couldn't help but to wonder this. Tron looked back at Flynn, who was seeming to have trouble deciding between two materials. Apparently giving up, Flynn took both materials and presented them to Tron.

"Which ones do you like better?" he asked.

Tron looked over the choices he had been given. Both materials had the same general shape of the lower half of his armor (apparently, 'User-armor' came in separate pieces and did not feel like armor at all), but they were different colors and one looked more like armor than the other. Tron noticed that one of the materials was similar to what Flynn was wearing, although he wasn't sure if choosing the material for this reason would be a good or bad thing. This material was light blue in color - almost the color of what his circuitry had been - but the other material was gray and it reminded him of his old armor.

"That one," Tron stated, pointing at the gray material.

"Hopefully, they'll fit," Flynn remarked, setting the blue material aside and bringing the gray material over. "Surprised you didn't pick the jeans. I would have thought blue was your color."

Tron didn't react. He only watched as Flynn set the material on Tron's lap so it covered and outlined his legs.

"That's how it goes, see?" Flynn asked, and when Tron nodded, Flynn helped him slip his legs into the material. "How's it feel?" he added when Tron's legs were securely "armored".

"It's soft," Tron observed, brushing his fingers against the material. "It feels soft."

Flynn chuckled. "Yeah, jeans would have been uncomfortable. Still, those look nice. They fit, too, so that's a plus."

Tron looked down at the material covering his legs before becoming preoccupied once more with his unarmored feet. Flynn apparently noticed this because he asked, "Strange, isn't it?"

Tron looked over at Flynn.

"Having feet instead of boots," Flynn elaborated. He then added, "You've never seen your toes before, have you?"

Tron looked down at his "feet", before shaking his head.

"What are they for?" the former Program asked.

Flynn shrugged. "Good question. Why we have them... also a good question. You'd probably say the same thing if I asked you why you _didn't_ have them. Just a part of who we are."

Tron thought about this for a moment, before bringing his knees to his chest and letting his feet rest on the very edge of the "bed". "Does this mean I'm a User now?" Tron suddenly asked, not looking away from the small, wiggly appendages on his feet.

"If you want to be," Flynn replied, completely unaware that Tron had heard him say otherwise not too long ago. "The great thing about being here is that you can be whatever you want."

_Except a Program,_ Tron lamented to himself, only becoming aware of just how much being a Program had meant to him.

Tron spent a few more moments looking at his feet before Flynn startled him by patting his shoulder.

"Hungry?" Flynn asked.

"Um-" Tron started, not exactly sure what Flynn meant, when Flynn stood up and walked to a corner of the room. Tron's eyes followed him, before Flynn turned around to see that the rest of Tron's body hadn't moved.

"Come on," he insisted, pointing to the large seat on the opposite end of the room. "Can't stay in bed all day. So much to see, so much to do..."

Tron had been so caught up in the excitement - in Alan One, in the World of the Users, in "sleep", in lack-of-heat, in gray material or blue material - that he had only just realized he never had a chance to get up and walk. Tron felt his feet drop to the floor, briefly wiggled those things which Flynn called toes, and hesitated.

Walking on User ground... it was almost too much to be able to comprehend. Many, many cycles of waiting, wondering, hoping had led to this. It was hard to believe that everything he had ever done, everything he had ever accomplished, every moment he spent faithful to Alan One even in the darkest of times... had led to this. There was no turning back now. Tron remembered having this thought when he was standing at the Portal with Flynn. It had been his last chance to see the World of the Users, but it had also been his last chance to say no. After this moment, he was a User, a User-type. As Flynn put it, "_hu-man_."

Tron closed his eyes and attempted to stand up.

He was a little wobbly at first, but he surmised it was because he hadn't stood up in quite a long time. Tron felt the "bed" behind him, and so he leaned against it to steady himself.

Once he felt balanced enough, Tron took a few steps and actually _felt _the floor below his feet. His toes brushed up against every texture of the floor, and each different texture was like a new sensation coursing through his body. IT was strange, but the fact that his body was now _sensitive_ to whatever was around it... it was almost wonderful.

Tron made his way to where Flynn had gestured, gradually growing more confident about walking on User ground. He seated himself in a section of the Large Seat, before becoming suddenly startled by how soft the Seat was. He slowly sank into it, closing his eyes and making himself comfortable. Tron groaned quietly in pleasure; things were very soft in this World!

Flynn turned around to see Tron lounging in the Seat, looking the very image of a casual User. He quietly chuckled before asking, "You like it?"

Tron jumped up, startled, before sitting up straight, his eyes cast guiltily to the floor.

"No, it's okay," Flynn reassured him, abandoning whatever it was he was going to do and walking over to sit next to Tron. "No, please, make yourself comfortable. Go on, lean back. Relax."

Tron hesitated, before leaning back again.

"You don't need my permission," Flynn continued. "By all means, do whatever you want. I don't really care. Long as you don't get into trouble or destroy anything or steal stuff or set stuff on fire or what have you. But, hey, relax."

A smile found its way onto Tron's face as he sank further into the Seat, relieved that Flynn had given him permission. Leaving Tron to relax, Flynn turned around again and headed back toward the corner of the room where he was apparently searching for something else to give to Tron. Before long, he came back with two small packets, tossing one in Tron's lap. Tron picked up the packet and looked it over carefully, before glancing over at Flynn.

"Breakfast," Flynn explained, although to Tron, this didn't explain anything, "It's kind of small, but when we go out later, we'll get something bigger." Tearing off the outer shell of his own packet, Flynn picked up one of the objects inside and... put it in his mouth?

"What are you doing?" Tron asked, although at the sight of this display, Tron's gut suddenly grew heavy, as if an entire Light Cycle had materialized inside him. The inside of his mouth had become more wet as well, but Tron swallowed, unintentionally amending this for a time.

"I'm eating, what's it look like?" Flynn, with his mouth full, asked, although he swallowed and added, "Oh." He sat down next to Tron, who breathed in deep and found a strange but pleasant "smell" from whatever Flynn was holding and had put into his mouth. "Alan, stop being right, you're making me look bad," Flynn muttered to himself before looking Tron in the eye. "Of course. You don't eat, do you?" he asked.

Tron didn't know what to say to this. "Should I?"

"Well, yeah," Flynn replied. "Now, anyway. Take one of those, put it in your mouth, chew it, and then swallow it."

Tron looked at Flynn like he had just been told to stick a Light Cycle baton up his nose.

Flynn sighed. "Let me show you. Open your mouth."

"Why?" Tron asked cautiously, although his mouth still watered.

"Come on, man, just do it," Flynn insisted.

"Does it hurt?" Tron suddenly inquired.

"Why should it?" Flynn replied.

"I just want to know if it hurts," Tron insisted.

Flynn sighed. "It does not hurt. It should not hurt, it never has hurt before, and it never will hurt. Tron, it's _food_."

"How am I supposed to know that?" Tron countered. "You said it yourself - you can't expect me to-"

"_Just shut up and open your mouth!_" Flynn snapped, and Tron obeyed. "God," Flynn muttered while Tron remembered who was in charge. "Have you always been this ornery?"

Tron, with his mouth still open, looked guilty.

Flynn took one of the small objects from his own packet and held it in front of Tron. "A cracker. Nice to have as a snack, but it's not a full meal. You'll get it as the day goes on." He broke off a piece of it, before placing it in Tron's mouth. "Chew it until you can barely feel it anymore."

Tron obeyed. The taste of the object was strange; it was nothing like Energy, not even the newfangled "flavored" kind. It was something new, something Tron couldn't describe. Was this why he liked it? Though he had been pressured and scared into doing this, Tron was eager to try more. Flynn gave a small smile of satisfaction as Tron snatched the rest of the "cracker" from his hand, greedily feasting on it like he'd been starved his entire life.

"Whoa, whoa, don't eat too fast," Flynn pointed out when Tron had finished (the chew-until-you-can-barely-feel-it-anymore-and-then-swallow rule had been easier to follow than he thought) and was already attempting to figure out how to remove the outer shell of his own packet of crackers. "Don't want you to get sick right away before we've even done anything. Alan will have a fit." Flynn helped Tron open his packet, and Tron continued to eat, however obediently slower than before.

However, that strange new System that Tron called his own was still premature, and still needed time to adjust to its new functions. What did it need to do? What could it do? What couldn't it do? Why was it supposed to do these things? Disoriented and confused at this new command called "food", the System tried to reboot itself, to fix some strange coding that made it confused, but it could not do this. There was something attempting to reboot _did_ do, but in no way was it good for Tron.

Tron felt an unusual stirring around his gut area. He attempted to ignore it, to convince himself it was normal, but the feeling was just too strong. Flynn heard Tron groaning from nearby.

"What's wrong?" Flynn asked, concerned but morbidly curious about Tron's strange reaction to the User food.

"I-" Tron started, but he was cut off by the gag that rose from the back of his throat, growing louder and louder with every cough.

Though Tron was confused at what this was, Flynn seemed to recognize this immediately.

"Hold on, I'll be right back," Flynn stated, before running to another room to get something. In the meantime, Tron attempted to hold back whatever was rising in his chest, but was doing a relatively poor job of it. Finally, though, Flynn returned with a large container and held it in front of Tron.

"Here. Go ahead. Let it out," Flynn urged, and Tron did just that; he choked and gagged and coughed and spit, releasing whatever had built itself up in the back of his throat. Soon, it was over, and Tron looked into a puddle of light brown chunks at the bottom of the container. Flynn grimaced as he set it aside.

"That was not supposed to happen," he reassured Tron, before reaching over to rub his friend's back. "You okay? You okay? Just take deep breaths, Tron. I'll get you some water."

Tron panted as Flynn got up and left once again, recoiling at the bad "smell" of... whatever it was in the container. Flynn returned sooner than Tron had expected with a glass full of... Energy?

"Take some of this," Flynn instructed, handing the glass to Tron, "and rinse and spit. Trust me, your mouth will taste a lot better after this."

Tron obeyed, spitting into the container and convincing himself he felt better, although he still felt slightly nauseous.

"You okay?" Flynn asked again, before muttering to himself, "I'll get that cleaned up later."

Tron nodded, although he still didn't convince Flynn.

"Get back in bed," the User stated. "Rest yourself. I want you to feel your best today."

Tron, with some dizzying difficulty, crawled back into the "bed" where he had first found himself (it was then that he half-realized that he didn't have any time to explore the room) and pulled the "sheets" over himself before closing his eyes again, hoping some more "sleep" would cure his nausea.

"Well," Flynn remarked to himself as he watched Tron get into bed before picking up the filthy container and taking it to get cleaned out, "he sure has being lazy down pat."

What felt like several cycles later, Tron opened his eyes again. It was less difficult opening his eyes this time than before, especially since he was almost technically a User-type now. Tron rubbed his eyes (they itched of something, for some reason) and looked over to see Flynn in the chair that Alan One himself sat in some time ago.

"Hey," Flynn softly greeted him, almost looking as enthusiastic as when he had realized Tron had survived the transfer. "How're you doing? You feeling okay?"

Tron paused for a moment, scratched at his eye, and nodded.

"Does your stomach still hurt?" Flynn insisted.

Tron wasn't sure what Flynn had meant by "stomach", but he assumed it was that strange food-feeling from earlier. Tron shook his head. "No, it doesn't hurt much anymore."

This made Flynn smile. Tron couldn't help but to smile back at him.

"That's good," Flynn replied, before adding, "It could have been a lot worse, but I'm glad it didn't turn out that way. And thank God we still have some time to spare." The User turned around and moved to exit the room, and Tron got the message that Flynn wanted him to come as well.

"Time for what?" Tron curiously asked, pulling the sheets off himself and getting out of bed. His feet still bare, he padded to Flynn's side.

Flynn only smiled gently and replied, "To see the World."


	8. Paradiso: VI

**VI**

"If I remember correctly, we're going to have to leave in a few minutes if we want to make it there on time," Flynn explained while he was tightening Tron's 'shoes'. The former Program was baffled by how his feet were hidden without the use of armor coding, but at least he looked more like himself than... before.

"Make it where on time?" Tron inquired, attempting to wiggle his toes again to see if they were still there.

"There's a very, very special thing I want you to see before we do anything else," Flynn simply replied. "I think you'll like it." The User grinned as he stood up straight again, looking Tron straight in the eye. "And I've got just the thing to take us there."

"A Light Cycle?" Tron asked as he followed Flynn out the door, down the stairs, and out of the building. "A User Light Cycle?"

"Close," Flynn replied, appearing to be searching for something while Tron was preoccupied with gazing at the World around him, outside the confines of the building.

What wonder! Though the structure of this place - with its roads and buildings - was not dissimilar to that of the Grid, Tron couldn't shake the fact that everything around him seemed more... _real_. While the structures on the Grid seemed to be vague outlines, the buildings in this World seemed to have more color, more shape, more detail than what Tron had ever seen in his entire life. No one User could have made this, he realized. None of this could have been made from coding alone, whether the User was in this World or in a distant realm beyond even this. This was not the work of a User, but of an artist, wherever Tron had found knowledge of this concept. Instead of simply black with glowing lines, this World was full of color, of beauty, of _life_.

_No wonder Flynn spent so much time here, _Tron thought, eyes wide and in awe of his surroundings. _This is perfect. A perfect World. Users know why he would have wanted to create the Grid when he had __**this**__._

The World was fairly dim, and unlike on the Grid, very few things had their own source of Energy to use to glow. However, Tron didn't mind. He was absorbed, completely enthralled in what he could see of the World, wanting never to leave that moment or spot. He could have stood there for millions and millions of cycles, forever, for as long as this World remained beautiful. However, Tron was abruptly brought back to reality when he heard the revving of an engine. He turned around to see Flynn sitting on... what sort of looked like a Light Cycle?

"What do you think?" Flynn asked with a wide, silly grin. "Pretty sweet ride, huh?"

"What is it?" Tron asked, starting to walk toward Flynn and his Not-Light-Cycle.

"It's called a 'Ducati', a motorcycle. My pride and joy." Flynn took a moment to stroke the handles, before turning back to Tron. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's go, slowpoke!"

With some help from Flynn, Tron managed to board the 'Ducati' (which, for some strange reason, was able to hold more than one passenger in its current state!) and secure himself ("Hold on tight," Flynn had advised) before letting Flynn know he was ready. With a loud whoop, Flynn started the ignition and both User and Program took off to what Tron hoped was going to be a grand adventure.

As the 'Ducati' rolled on, Tron noticed something peculiar about the sky above them. Though he noticed that their surroundings were gradually growing brighter and more vivid in color, Tron couldn't help but to grow uneasy at its source.

"Flynn?" Tron suddenly asked, even though he knew the User was focused on driving. "Is the sky supposed to flare like that?"

"Relax, Tron," came the reply.

"Is that normal?" Tron kept insisting. "Did something explode? Is there an attack? Are there defenses? Is this something I'm supposed to cover?" Tron grew more and more flustered at the possibility of an attack on the World of the Users, let alone the possibility of him having to fight without being completely and adequately prepared for combat. Tron squirmed, attempting to contain his anxiety.

Tron heard Flynn quietly sigh, even though the User was not facing him. "Tron, it's okay. It's normal. You'll see what I mean in a bit, okay?"

As much as Tron didn't want to listen to Flynn and instead continue fretting about the possible attack, he forced himself to agree with Flynn and relax. Before Tron could make another comment, Flynn repeated, "You'll see what I mean when we get there. I promise there's nothing to worry about." He chuckled, before adding, "Trust me, you'd know when we were getting bombed. Probably not going to happen anytime soon, but... just don't watch the news," he added as a morbid joke that had gone completely over Tron's head.

At once, though, Tron stopped speaking, deciding once and for all to trust Flynn. After all, when had Flynn ever lied to him?

Holding on tightly as to not fall off the 'Ducati', Tron could only wait until he was able to see what Flynn was going to show him. Perhaps it would explain everything, Tron pondered. All these questions, all of these strange mysteries about the Users, would all of that be explained with this simple presentation? Would all of the questions Tron had ever had in his entire life be answered simply by what he was about to see? It was almost too baffling to comprehend, but Tron had a feeling that at least part of it was true. At least some of these mysteries would be solved, some of these questions answered.

As his surroundings flew past him and Flynn, Tron couldn't help but to notice (he was only noticing this now, for earlier, he had been too focused on the 'attack') that everything seemed to have significantly more color than before. He remembered this World being slightly darker when he had first boarded the 'Ducati' with Flynn. It almost seemed like the darkness of this World was fading away.

_But that's impossible, _Tron thought, despite the fact that in a distant dream, a distant memory, he had witnessed an entire System flourish and blossom before his very eyes after the defeat of the MCP. The World he had come to know since the Pull had always been darkness, despite the fact that every solid object had its own pulsing light. It had always been a miserable World, and yet, Tron didn't fully realize this until now...

Everything started to gain more color, became brighter around him. Everything had color, and most of everything became colors that Tron didn't know existed, whether it was last cycle he recalled or the pleasant memories of long ago. Indeed, there were reds, blues, whites, even some blacks and oranges, but there were also beautiful mixtures and blendings of colors that Tron wasn't able to even comprehend before now. There was something that was black, but not quite. Something that was too dark to be red, but too light to be anything else. Something he couldn't decide if it was orange, or some strange shade of white. He looked up and saw that the flare in the sky had created a strange aurora; not just white, not just blue, not even black, but a multitude, a myriad of colors that blended so perfectly with its environment that Tron couldn't pick out any individual color without acknowledging another. What explosion had caused this? What sort of otherworldly arsenal from a Light Jet had brought about this fantastic (but deadly?) display? What was its source? What had brought all of this forth?

Tron was silent, almost fearful of what he was seeing, but inside, his mind was racing. What was this? Where had it come from? Would it hurt him? Did a User cause this? Was he going to see that User? Was he going to see any other User than Flynn and Alan One? Was Alan One going to be there? Despite the fact that Tron was almost terrified of what he didn't know (and couldn't know, much to his dismay), he was also curious, almost excited. Was he going to see more of this? How much more of this was he going to see? Was the World around him only going to get brighter? More colorful? More vivid? Tron grew anxious once again, but this time from _excitement_. Despite his worries, despite his concerns, Tron was anxious to know what had been hidden from him for his entire life, and hidden from the Programs who had come before him and after him. Like before, Tron's sense of anticipation had overpowered his wariness and had even gone as far as to sooth most of his jittery fear. Despite his qualms, Tron kept looking ahead, patiently waiting for whatever lay at the end of this road. He let the air - this strange atmosphere - give his body lack-of-heat once again. He let the gust of force flutter his hair, and as he breathed in (for a User-type or '_hu-man_', it was now necessary and almost involuntary to breathe), he let new sensations course through his body, sensations he wouldn't have been able to even imagine in the Other World, or the one before it.

"Almost there," Tron heard Flynn say, and Tron became anxious once again. All of the wonders he was seeing, all of the things (he had no other way to describe these strange phenomenons) he was feeling, all of the miracles of the World of the Users he was experiencing... what could it possibly lead to? What could possibly be its climax, the highlight of it all?

Flynn suddenly pulled over and stopped the 'Ducati'. He got off the Not-Light-Cycle, as did Tron, and the former began to escort the latter to a particular spot in the massive sea of green that lay before them.

'Green'... some part of Tron's User-type instinct had taught him this word, for it would not have been known to him otherwise. However, it was the only word that was able to describe the brilliant sight he now beheld. Everywhere he looked, he was only able to see what was now known to him as 'green', up to the horizon, where the massive towers of 'green' partially yielded for the now brighter aurora above them. The color that was 'green' clashed with the multitude, the myriad of colors above them, but for some strange reason, it was enchanting as well as odd.

That Other World... it had nothing like this.

All sorts of 'green'... black-green, white-green, blue-green, yellow-green, any color of 'green'. Tron marveled at this as Flynn led him through.

"I haven't shown this place to anyone," Flynn explained to Tron, who was now only half distracted by the World around him. "I think you'll like it. It's a very beautiful spot."

Tron followed at Flynn's heels, attempting not to get suddenly distracted by something interesting or odd that he would spot out of the corner of his eye. He had a feeling that there would be time for exploring later.

Finally, Flynn stopped at the top of a hill that towered over a good amount of this sea of 'green' through which they had walked. Tron noticed that they were higher than even some of the towers of 'green', for he could clearly and easily see over them into the bright horizon ahead. Tron looked over at Flynn, who was looking straight at the horizon and had then invited himself to sit down. Tron, remembering what Flynn had said earlier about not asking the User's permission, sat down as well. The two were silent for several moments.

"What are we waiting for?" Tron whispered to Flynn, not exactly sure what was going on or what they were doing. He did notice, however, that the 'green' sea he was sitting on felt very soft as well, although nowhere near as soft as the 'bed'.

Flynn only turned a little toward Tron and smiled at him. "You'll see."

Then, when Tron looked ahead again, he saw it. A light that hadn't been there before. With every blink of the eye, it grew larger, and more of it was revealed. It was mesmerizing, although Tron couldn't understand why. The larger the light became, the brighter it also was, and the brighter his surroundings also became.

Suddenly, without any warning, he _knew_. This was not Energy, nor circuitry, nor the work of any User. This was what he had been longing for throughout his very existence. This, indeed, was the climax, the answer to everything he had ever wanted to know. It was so far away from him, and yet, unlike the mere Energy pulses within minimal circuitry, he felt it warm him, relieve his lack-of-heat and give him comfort. No, it wasn't Energy, nor was it circuitry, not was it even remotely digital. This, before his very eyes, was **_light_**. The central core of all existence, even the Users bowed to its whim. Was this the Users' User, then, the one from whom they drew their inspiration and their power? Tron stared, transfixed, although he averted his eyes when it became too bright. This was **_light_**, and Tron was the one, out of trillions - perhaps more - of Programs to exist before him, with him, and after him, to behold it. Not even the Portal could compare to _**light**_'s sheer majesty, sheer striking of wonder and awe, sheer ability to make one feel so small even though he was larger than he had ever been in his life. It could not have possibly been replicated in any way, whether by User or by Program. Any attempt would have been a mockery, a parody unworthy to exist. In moments, it would have crumbled, for it would not have been **_light_**.

Tron looked once again, though his instinct told him looking for too long would hurt him. The warmth upon this sensitive skin comforted him as well as frightened him, and yet, Tron was in too much of a trance, too starstruck to even bring forth an emotion. He only looked on, transfixed and overwhelmed, innocent and tranquil, chilled by its warmth and moved by its beauty. When he would return to his home (or what he was to call his home, since his true home had been abandoned cycles ago), he would be further discontent with it, since none of Flynn's artificial replications would ever compare to the great and terrible beauty that was** _light_**.

Artificial. Tron cast his eyes downward at the thought of the word, suddenly feeling great shame and embarrassment. That was what his entire life had been; everything he had ever known was artificial, a mockery of what was 'real'. Tron always thought he had known what was 'real' and what wasn't, what was reality and what was only a dream, a product of his limited conscious. But now, with the ultimate proof the Users existed, and for them to reveal to him something with greater power than even they...

In a World as vivid and as colorful as this, with so many textures and phenomenons and other things Tron could not possibly put into words, he began to doubt himself. If all of this was true, then...

_Am **I** real? _Tron wondered, before looking back up at **_light_**. No matter how many times he silently pleaded with _**light**_, it would not give him the answer. He could only cherish the fact that this was the most _real _he had felt in a very long time.


	9. Paradiso: VII

**VII**

Tron learned many things in the span of time that Flynn had called "today". First, the sector - the _city _- they were in was called "Los Angeles", and the World of the Users was actually called "America" (at least, that's how Tron interpreted it). The sea of 'green' was actually called 'grass', while the towers of 'green' were 'trees'. That wondrous phenomenon that had first revealed itself to Tron as **_light _**and had lingered with them for the remainder of Tron's visit was called the 'sun', and those floating gray-white objects that sometimes obscured the _**light **_were called 'clouds'. All of this was in the 'park', although Flynn told Tron that this was not the only place that had 'grass' and 'trees' and 'sun' and 'clouds'; these things were evenly distributed all throughout the World, and wherever one went, they looked different. No two places were exactly the same.

The two of them, at Tron's insistence, spent most of the 'day' at the 'park', where Tron, at first shyly but then very eagerly, explored this strange and wonderful new World. To Tron's astonishment, there were not just Users in this World. There were all sorts of strange creatures; some that took to the air and flew beside the 'sun' without use of a Light Jet (reflecting upon this, Tron wondered what it would be like to fly, especially without the burden of manning controls or firing weapons), and most that walked or crawled on the ground among the User-types. There were even some that made their homes in the User Energy pools, although whenever Tron attempted to get a closer look at them, they would have always fled from him, intimidated and frightened by how much larger and stronger he was. Nonetheless, Tron was fascinated by these creatures and their functions. What was their purpose in this World? Were they the creations of Users, as he was? Tron wanted to ask Flynn about this, but it was at that time that he looked up to see that the World had grown several shades darker, and he could no longer see the 'sun'. Tron wanted to know why this was.

"It's going to storm soon," Flynn observed, before turning to Tron. "I think we should be heading back."

Tron looked down at the tiny, tiny worm-like creature that blissfully crawled along his hand. Reluctantly, Tron gently set the creature back into the 'grass' and watched it crawl away.

"I think we'll make it back in time," Flynn continued; Tron took one last look at the 'park' over his shoulder as they were walking back toward the 'Ducati'. "I know I don't want to be caught in the middle of it. Fortunately, this means I'll have more time to open tonight..."

However, Tron was still worried about the absence of the 'sun'.

"Is the...?" The word, Tron remembered, was 'sun'. "... Sun going to come back?"

Flynn smiled at his companion. "It's always going to come back. No matter how long you think it's gone, it's always going to come back."

"Even when it's dark?" Tron took a moment to think about the bad experiences he had had with complete darkness, most of them being around the time of the Pull.

"Even when it's very, very dark," Flynn continued, "the light's always going to come back."

Tron remembered this; he kept it at the front of his mind as they both boarded the 'Ducati' once again and headed back to where they started. As they rode, however, Tron's thoughts were interrupted by noises in the distance, sounds of explosions and crashes. Tron visibly and noticeably tensed, especially after seeing bright flares in the distance, but Flynn reassured him.

"Nothing's going to hurt you," Flynn calmly stated to him, for a moment sounding exactly like Alan One. "Not while I'm here. You're safe with me."

For some reason beyond Tron's understanding, his entire body suddenly had lack-of-heat. A sense of foreboding he could not place, but yet he could not ignore...

In the same way the World had grown brighter millicycles earlier when they were last travelling, it grew darker now at a quicker pace than before, making Tron confused. Was this natural? Was this how it was supposed to happen?

Another loud noise, this one louder and closer. Tron jumped; he became scared before his instinct as a Security Program had forbid the emotion. He longed to see _**light **_again, just to know it was there.

_It's always going to come back. The light's always going to come back._

Tron attempted to convince himself that this made him feel better, but it only worked slightly.

_The light's always going to come back._

Tron was not prepared to defend himself against anything that would happen.

_The light's always going to come back._

Not that he knew what was going to happen.

_Nothing's going to hurt you. Not while I'm here. You're safe with me._

Safe...

They were back at the building (the one that, Tron had just noticed, was exactly the same as the corresponding building in Tron City), and after they had gotten off, Flynn found somewhere to put the 'Ducati'. Both User and Program ran inside, while the explosions and crashes continued outside, muffled by the barriers of the building. Once they were inside, Flynn turned to Tron.

"I'm going to get some things set up," Flynn stated, and Tron nodded to show he understood. "Wait here, and when I'm done, you can have something to eat, maybe... not sure if that's a good idea still, but just... relax. You've had a long day." Flynn smiled at Tron, and when the Program-turned-User-type nodded again, Flynn left. Tron trusted Flynn.

When had Flynn ever lied to him?

While he waited, Tron thought about what he had overheard Alan One say before he had left. The possibility of him wanting to stay... Tron had seen many wonderful things during his short time in the World of the Users, but despite all of this beauty, all of this wonder, all of this _real _that this World had... Tron reluctantly had to agree with Flynn when he had said Tron's duties to his System were his first priority. There was nothing that would cause Tron to want to stay, not with a Grid, a System that needed him (another crash, explosion from outside).

For some reason, this also brought his qualms from the Portal to mind. If and when he _would _return to the Grid, he wouldn't ever be the same again. This whole experience, no matter what happened, would _change _him, whether for the better or for the worse, because he now had _knowledge._

_Knowledge._

Another crash, another explosion.

A particularly bright flare illuminated the building from outside for a brief moment, as if something had actually crashed and exploded in front of the building, in front of Tron. It startled him, but it did not scare him. He had grown slightly accustomed to the explosions and crashes by now.

_The light's always going to come back._

Silence for a few moments. Just enough time for Tron to catch his breath.

He'd been gifted with _knowledge..._

Suddenly without any prior warning, all of the lights went out.

And all became dark.


	10. O, Brave New World

_... And all became dark on a cold summer night._

_Once upon a time, there was a man on a bike. He, too, rode through the thunder, the lightning, the dark, but this did not faze him as much as it used to. He rode through the dark, but he knew the way. He knew where he was going, for he had been this way and had gone several times._

_Rain. He thought so._

_He blinked away the incoming drops as he discarded the bike, at this point not caring if it rusted. He walked in the mud, at this point not caring if his shoes became soiled. He walked the way he had taken long before, once upon a dream, as if it had been only yesterday. In reality, though, it had been years._

_How many...? Once a certain amount of years passes, one begins to lose count of how many._

_The shadow of a man - skinny from grief and clumsy out of confusion and desperation - slowly wove through the trees and made that long trek up the hill. He kept trying to remember the specifics of that dream long ago, but his efforts were fruitless. The tears that trailed down his face at the memories blended uncannily with the raindrops hitting his sensitive skin as his now sopping hair clung to his head. How he'd longed to remember simpler, happier times, especially now!_

_As he stood at the top of the hill, beholding nothing but darkness and the occasional flare of lightning, he looked out into the obscured horizon and recalled something that had been read to him a long time ago, back when he still needed to be read to._

_**"O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here!"**_

_What wonder was this? What goodly creatures were there, except the ones who claimed themselves to be? Miranda had known nothing of the world that lay before her, the world that ever so eagerly beckoned her to come. Perhaps that was what the wonder was, what made the goodly creatures many. What one does not know, he either praises or fears, when it should be the opposite._

_Lightning flashed, and thunder struck, but this weary savage upon the hill hardly blinked at it._

_**"How beauteous mankind is!"**_

_How beauteous indeed, so selfish and oblivious to others' pain! Long ago, he thought they were beauteous, but that was when fate had still been kind to him, if he could call it that. Mankind... he was supposed to feel sympathy for them, after all of the horrible, horrible crimes they had committed? After all they had destroyed instead of created, was he still supposed to call them 'beauteous'?_

_He felt cold now. Very, very cold. But he knew someone else, encased in ice with his eyes sealed, unable to weep for himself._

_He would not let him weep, though pity kept him indecisive._

_Lightning and thunder again. He'd been standing there for so long, his feet were beginning to sink into the mud._

_At this point, he could have cared less if they did._

_**"O, brave new world, that has such people in it!"**_

_O, brave new world... he missed being young. He missed being naive and carefree. He missed having nothing to worry about, no reason to tremble or cry. When the world was still brave and new, instead of the horrible Hell it had become._

_What had went wrong? When did his perception suddenly change? When did the knowledge become too much for him to bear? When had he had enough of the wonder, the goodly creatures, the beauty of man, the brave new world...?_

_Lightning came, and thunder followed._

_Perhaps, he realized with a melancholy sigh that was whisked away by the winds of the storm, it had been on the night he had learned what evil was._

__[Fasten your seatbelts and hold onto your hard drive. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.]


	11. Inferno: I

**Act II: Inferno**

**I**

_Morituri te salutamus..._

The room was black. Pitch black. Tron couldn't see a hand in front of his eyes if he wanted to. His body had lack-of-heat once again, although this time, he couldn't exactly place where it had come from. It just seemed to materialize, along with the sense that invisible arms reached out toward him, wanting something, begging for something, even if it was only acknowledgement. Was the darkness trying to deceive him? He backed away, feeling his way around his surroundings, but suddenly, there were _voices_, voices heard only by an ear that was not truly _real_.

"_Users..._"

"_Users..._"

"_Users..._"

"_Users..._"

"_Users..._"

Tron could not see them. He only felt them and heard them, and he did not know whether all of this was real or simply from within his head. When did it cross the line between dream and reality? Tron was not willing to find out.

"Users," Tron muttered, wrapping his arms around himself to somehow force heat into his now deprived-of-heat body. "Where are you?"

"_Where are you?_" the quiet chorus within the darkness replied, almost in a mesmerizing, harmonic way. "_Where are you? Where are you?_"

"_Robert Zero..._"

"_Mark Three..._"

"_Daniel Five..._"

"_Emma Two..._"

"_Zeke One..._"

"_Rachel Six..._"

"_Zack Seven..._"

"Alan One..."

Another explosion, another crash, but no being - real or not - was fazed by this.

_The light will come back. It always comes back._

Almost as if it was an entire World away...

"_O, User, if you hear me..._"

"_... give me a sign..._"

"_... let me know you are near me..._"

"_... oh, User, divine..._"

"_... User, all my strength to you..._"

"_... for you shall never leave me..._"

"_... all my trust I put in you..._"

"... For you shall not deceive me," Tron finished softly under his breath. He'd learned this chant long ago, and for a while, he had even memorized it. However, most of it had been forgotten as soon as he came to the Grid. Why was it being brought back now, of all times...?

"_David Five..._"

"_Miranda One..._"

"_John Fifteen..._"

"_Bryson Three..._"

"_Paul Six..._"

Tron thought he heard some familiar voices from the invisible void before him. He attempted to approach them, to reach out to them, but they always moved, flitting to the other side, beyond his reach. Were they fearful of his User-type state? Or was there something that prevented him from contacting them, even though, truly, he was one of them...?

"_Samuel Ten..._"

"_Harold Nine..._"

"_James Twelve..._"

"_Jeremy Four..._"

"_Kevin One..._"_  
_

"_Larry Seven..._"

"_Michael Thirteen..._"

By now, the room was filled with these voices, their wistful and longing cries echoing off every wall of the room. Names of a myriad of Users rung in his ears, and he wanted to find these Users, to tell them that their Programs loved them, and longed for their presence and attention. Though he did not know most of these Programs, he wanted them to have the same relationship with their Users that he himself had with Alan One. It was only fair, and only right, for this relationship to remain mutual. But these voices did not reach toward their Users; they reached toward _him_, for he was the only one there, the only one who could hear them, who could know and acknowledge for what they were pleading. They reached toward him, but instead of offering a loving, friendly touch, their hands that transcended Worlds pulled the heat from his body, his sensitive skin, in a fruitless effort for them to obtain their own. He felt that heat-absorbing touch against his skin, but Tron had a feeling that this was all the contact with him they would manage to get. That they could get, with the barrier between their Worlds being as thick and as strong as it was...

"_Alex Eight..._"

"_Timothy Five..._"

"_Damon Three..._"

"_Sarah Two..._"

"_Thomas Eleven..._"

"_Gerald Six..._"

Now shivering, Tron wished he could console them, but he didn't know where they were, or if they even existed. No... they existed, he was sure of that. It was sacrilege to deny a cry to the Users.

But why here? Why now? Why...?

"_Brendan Six..._"

"_Vincent Zero..._"

"_Damien Two..._"

"_Victor Five..._"

More than anything else, Tron wanted to help them. It was strange being on the receiving end of these cries, even though they were not specifically directed toward him. It was also almost humbling, for it was simply another reminder of the sheer power of the beings that dwelt here.

_The light's always going to come back. It always comes back._

Was he a User now, from being here? Did he now have the great power and strength that came with being a User? If this was true... did this make him no longer a Program? Did his origins from the System no longer matter? Did anyone _care_?

No... No, someone had to care. Alan One cared. Wise, great, powerful Alan One, with his loving and welcoming and warm embrace...

"_Jeremy Two..._"

Someone had to care.

"_Edward Five..._"

"_Adri-_"

Suddenly, there was silence in the dark room, no more noise. It was as if they had all been cut off by something beyond any of their control. Tron wanted to call out to them, either as a Program or as a User (whichever one he was now), to let them know that the Users existed, that they were listening and they were willing to offer their care and love...

_The light's always going to come back._

Tron heard his User-circuits pulsing. It was the only noise in the room. Whether this experience had been real or just a trick of his perception, Tron wanted to find these Programs, to reassure them that one millicycle, near or far away, there would be _**light**_...

And light came, although not in the way Tron expected.

Light came, but it was a great flare from inside of the building, coming from all corners in all different colors, though predominantly, it was _red_. Though the lights were potentially blinding, the room was still illuminated, allowing Tron to at least partially see what all the room contained. Strewn across the room in a maze-like formation were box-like structures almost as tall as he was, each of them different colors and imprinted with different User-script that he couldn't decipher. These structures all had screens, and they, too, lit up brightly. They also began making sounds, all at the same time, that reminded Tron of the ENCOM System...

And of the Game Grid.

Sounds and music (strange, strange User music!) overlapped each other and filled the room, creating what could be described simply as a _mess _of sound. Tron could barely discern one thing from another. However, Tron swore that he heard, within that mess of sound, sounds of struggle. Sounds of fighting. Sounds of combat long forgotten but still mocked on the Grid. Sounds of _pain_.

_There shouldn't be pain, _Tron realized, now becoming confused and worried and, most of all, _scared_. _The Users are very good and kind, and their World is very beautiful. How could they possibly...?_

The Users. They started coming in; first one, then many, shoving past him and asking him strange questions to which he didn't know the answers and quickly filling up the room to the point of nearly bursting. There was so much noise now, and Tron didn't know what to do, how to react. What was this place, and where was Flynn? He said he would be back...

With the greater amount of Users that came and filled up the room, the World around him moved faster and faster and faster and faster and faster that soon, everything became a blur; everything was a blur of light and color and the noise growing louder and louder but at one point softer, but then louder still!

Tron could barely hear his own User pulse, though he felt it coursing through his body and his aching, aching User-type head, over the protruding rhythm of this strange, ghastly User music.

_**THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHU MPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPT HUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUM PTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTH UMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHU MPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPT HUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUM PTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTH UMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP**_**_THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHU MPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPT HUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUM PTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTH UMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP THUMP..._**

No matter how much Tron willed it to stop, it simply kept going, intensified, until Tron felt he was going to lose all sense of his hearing. However, instead of blissful silence for the rest of his existence, he was only able to hear **_THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHU MPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPT HUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUM PTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTH UMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHU MPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPT HUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUM PTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTH UMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHU MPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPT HUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUM PTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTH UMPTHUMPTHUMP..._**and it would haunt him.

**_THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHU MPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPT HUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUM PTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTH UMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP..._**

There were still the sounds of the Game Grid all around him; Tron couldn't deny it now. However, these noises now seemed to be so much more... real to him than before. Like it was happening all over again...

Tron's vision half returned, but he was still seeing a blur all around him. A blur of motion, lights, sound... it made him uncomfortable. It made him _scared_. For once in his life, Tron had found himself in a situation where he was not able to simply pull his Disc off his back and defend himself. He had to come to terms with the fact that he now was helpless, defenseless, _vulnerable_, no matter what happened here. He wanted to get out, but he had become lost. Where and when and why he had moved was unknown to him. All that mattered now was getting out of there and finding Flynn, because Flynn knew more than he did and Flynn had promised nothing would hurt him and Flynn had never, never lied to him. Tron wanted to run, but in his dazed state, he could only walk and stumble, unintentionally making a spectacle for the viewing pleasure of those not too busy to pay attention.

Though Tron was still nearly blinded by all of the blurry motion and light, by some phenomenon, he could still see the screens of the box-towers clearly. Tron saw, as he had assumed and predicted, scenes from rounds from the Game Grid of old, of distant memories, all of the different games that Tron himself had been forced to master, and even some that he didn't know had existed. All of them, from a perspective Tron would have never imagined himself having, looking down on the obscured images of the Programs as they... as they fought and continued fighting, until one of them derezzed. The Light Cycles, the Disc Wars, the Ring Game... all of them ended the same way, with a winner and a casualty, a death sentence. Programs were being derezzed by these Games, still, even long after the defeat of the MCP. How was this possible? What had happened since the Pull? Did the MCP resurface again, somehow, and start the whole process anew? Did the resurrected MCP decide to take advantage of Tron's disappearance and his service in the other System? Or was the MCP or even Sark surprisingly unnecessary for an epidemic such as this one...?

_The light's going to come back. It's always going to come back._

Programs were being derezzed. The Users' creations, loving and faithful, were being slaughtered in matters - to the Users - as casual as questioning a Bit. If all of this was happening right in front of his eyes, then why did none of the Users acknowledge th-?!

...

Tron could no longer feel his User-pulse. His body became stiff, like what Flynn had called a 'tree', and yet he shivered, but not from the lack-of-heat. He stayed like this, the World of the Users speeding past him and around him and by him at the speed of ten Light Cycles combined. It must have been a full cycle - perhaps ten cycles - before Tron could feel himself breathe again. Inhale... Exhale...

Suddenly, as it had happened with the 'sun', the **_light_**, Tron _knew_. He _knew_, as his skin - formerly full of the color and life that all User-types had - now turned as white as that of a derezzed User.

He wanted nothing more, nothing more in both Worlds, than to disprove this observation, this conclusion, this epiphany. He would have snapped his Disc to know that none of this was true. Tron pleaded to wake up, to be taken away from this strange dream by any means possible. He wouldn't have cared if there had been another Pull, and he was to be trapped in that strange void for the rest of his runtime. As long as it assured him that what he was seeing before him... it was all lies. Lies... Lies... He wanted to believe that all of this was just a terrible, terrible, cruel lie. He would have given the rest of his time in the World of the Users, just to have it not be so that the reason these Users did not move to save their Programs, their loving creations, from their terrible fate was because... was because...

**They didn't _CARE_.**

Every time Tron blinked an eye or moved a muscle, every time he would possess a thought or breathe in or out, a Program derezzed. Brutally. Mercilessly. Just another casualty. Programs derezzing, left and right,, by the pulse of his User-circuitry, by the thought, by the breath-!

_**OH!**_

He could hear them. He could hear them again. Whether or not this was related to the incident earlier, and whether this was also real or just another part of Tron's deranged perception, the User-type would never know. He heard them, some of the same voices from earlier - the ones who had chanted and sung - suffering, screaming, begging for their lives with no one to mourn their passing, their disappearance. A Program, an individual, reduced to nothing. Tron heard their laments, their prayers, their agony, their pain, but he could do nothing. He could only watch, helplessly and powerlessly, as scream after scream was abruptly cut off, soon to be replaced by thousands, perhaps millions of others.

_Users! _Tron wanted to exclaim, but his voice was gone, his epiphany having ripped it from his throat. _Users! Oh, Users, don't you hear them? _Tron wanted to plead. _Don't you hear them? Why are you doing this?_

Another epiphany, this one worse than the first. He would have understood if the circumstances were beyond anyone's control. He would have understood if the Users were powerless against this tragedy, as Tron himself was. He would have even forgiven them, if they were to apologize for their lack of control of what Tron would soon learn was called 'fate'. However, it was not to be, for standing, wandering for a few moments more led him to an even ghastlier conclusion, one that had been nearly impossible to even comprehend, to even imagine before this very moment, however long it lasted.

The Users... not only did they not care, they were the ones **RESPONSIBLE **for this!

_The light's going to... it's always... it's always going to..._

They - the Users, the ones fully in control of the Programs' fate - they were **_ENJOYING _**this. These sadistic creatures, these fiends from the depths of nowhere Tron knew, they reveled in the pain and used their own creations as mere playthings, to kill and to maim whenever they pleased. They were yelling, laughing, encouraging, and Tron could hear the screaming, the pain, the agony, the laughter, the yelling, the music, the screaming, the pleas, the laughter, the agony, the sorrow, the sadistic joy, the suffering, the pain the joy the music the horrible horrible music the pain the agony the laughter the joy the pulse the screaming the terror the death the derezzing the laughter the yelling the screaming explosions flare flash screaming laughing agony sorrow pulse explosions death pounding screaming begging deathagonysufferingsorrowlau ghingexplosionssufferingscre amingexplosionsflaresnoisemu siclaughingscreamingsufferin gagonypainpleasbegscriesjoye ncouraginglaughingUsersUSERS _**USERS!**_

A boy was playing the Space Paranoids game. He had gotten a pretty high score in his opinion, but it wasn't enough to beat the record of the Recognizer-shooting master, Flynn. He admired how well Flynn played the Paranoids game, how he shot at the game's imaginary enemies with so much ease. It seemed almost as though Flynn had been destroying Recognizers his entire life.

A Light Cycle game. She felt she was one of the best Light Cycle players in Los Angeles. However, she didn't get that way overnight. Many hours, many days of practice, God knew how many times she whipped through the many, many levels with ease, demolishing her opponents - real or computer - with almost no effort at all.

Shooting at incoming alien invader ships. A teenager made his way through the game with moderate success. Damn it, why won't those aliens DIE?!

Best friends challenged each other to the Disc Game. Sometimes he won. Sometimes she won. In the virtual world of the video game, they had slaughtered each other on numerous occasions. However, it was all in good fun. No one was hurt by their friendly competition. It was just a game.

She demolished her opponents with little effort, like it was with a wave of her hand.

Those Recos are stubborn, aren't they?

_The light's going to come back it's always going to come back the light's going to come back it's always going to come back..._

Many ships keep coming, and therefore, many ships are destroyed.

Friendly competition. No one gets hurt.

She made her way through the game with no mercy.

It was just a game.

Screaming, yelling, agony, laughing, pain, joy...

I'm out of ammo. Have to reload.

She's so passionate about that game, it's terrifying.

The little characters on the screen slaughtered each other many times. It was nothing new.

Ready...

Anyone want to challenge her to Light Cycle? She'll rip you to shreds.

Aim...

Bright red lights... Bright flashing red lights that blinded him and made his eyes burn.

FIRE!

It was just for fun. Just a game.

Another Recognizer... but this time, I'm prepared.

_The light's going to come back it's always going to come back why isn't it coming back?_

She'll destroy you.

**BOOM!**

Don't worry, it's just a game.

**BOOM!**

Bright lights very bright lights deafening music and now he felt dizzy very dizzy _the light's always going to come back..._

**BOOM!**

DIE! _DIE! **DIE!**_

At this point, Tron's vision was a blurry swirl of colors and lights and pain and sounds and noise, unable to comprehend anything other than the wretched (**BOOM!**) torture (**BOOM!**) he was witnessing. Experiencing, even though he was on the wrong side of the screen. He was on the _safe _side of the screen, and therefore... therefore, Tron wasn't supposed to care. It didn't affect him. It wasn't supposed to.

But he could still hear them. Users, he could still hear them.

Tron's heart sank, considering the sheer amount of User-Believers exposed to this ravenous bloodlust, and had suffered because of it. To think that they waited outside their respective arenas, waited to _die_, wondering when the microcycle would come that they would finally be derezzed, and secretly hoping that their Users would save them from this gruesome fate... They would never know the truth, Tron realized. They would never know the secret behind the mystical and mysterious and wonderful Users.

They would never know that Programs had been created only to be slaughtered for sport.

Tron didn't want to watch this anymore. He had had enough, seen enough, heard enough, and all he wanted at that moment was for it to _stop._

_Make it stop! _Tron pleaded to whatever (or whoever) was facilitating this ferocious mess. _Please, make it stop! I'm begging you, please!_

However, no deities answered his plea. There was no kind voice within the noise, no reassuring comfort among the pushes and shoves that decided Tron's movement for him. He wanted to get out, but there was no way out. There was no way to escape this horror; everywhere he turned, Tron only saw more machines and more Users and more flashing lights that made his eyes burn even more. He tried maneuvering through the crowd, but this only brought more attention to him, and now they were laughing. How could they possibly have the nerve to laugh at a time like this?

It was just a game.

Recos... where were those Recos...?

Another win for the User. Who's up to get destroyed?

Finally. Killed them all. Next level.

Look at him... is he drunk?

He had to get _OUT._

Most of the Users were still too absorbed in their sadistic activities to notice what was going on, but more and more of them noticed the bizarre man wandering blindly around the room. Most of them laughed at his torment, several yelled at him to get out, while a few were genuinely concerned about him, attempting to comfort him or snap some sense into him. However, Tron knew none of it. He couldn't see them because of the blinding, flashing lights and the many, many different bright colors that hurt his eyes and he almost felt them melting. He couldn't hear them because of the explosions and the screaming and the music, oh, that MUSIC!

_Please... Users, please... make it stop... Please, make it stop... I'm begging you..._

But then Tron turned his head, and suddenly, there was silence.

He heard nothing of the screaming, the music, the explosions, the laughing... he was no longer blinded by the lights, and nor was he nauseated from all of this. He saw clearly, but wished he was blind once again, for there was but one thing in this hellish room that he had yet to see.

As the core of this inferno caught his eye, Tron reviewed his thoughts from earlier about the Programs being doomed in their blind belief of the Users, never knowing who the true villains, the true sadistic murderers were. He reviewed the fact that all Programs had an equal chance of being subject to this terrible, terrible fate.

Before his eyes, Tron saw every moment he had been injured, both on the Grid and in the ENCOM System. He saw every moment he had nearly been derezzed, and wondered how he had made it out alive, how he was the one who was meant to be the survivor. He saw every moment he had almost given up, especially during his time in the Game Grid, and wondered where he had gotten the courage to keep going, for these creatures were not the cause of perseverance and dedication. To accept that would be to accept the fact that for his entire life, he had been fighting for nothing.

This object that had drawn Tron's complete attention, it left him in an unbreakable trance, one that was not affected by lights or sound or nausea or suffering. Not even the scolding laughter from the Users could make him even blink. Like Briar Rose toward the spinning-wheel, Tron walked, the path ahead of him clear and unobscured, as though the Users had mockingly made way for him, knowing that he needed to see what lay ahead in order to complete his "visit".

Just a game.

Ruthless.

Reload.

Kill them all.

No one hurt.

Won.

Destroy.

He had to watch other Programs derezz before, often at his own hands.

Dominated.

Shoot at them all.

He had convinced himself not to feel guilty, even though he knew that these Programs, too, were individuals, and had Users and functions.

There they are. All dead.

Play me again?

On the Game Grid, he knew that it was either them or him.

Look at them go.

No one likes a sore loser.

On the Game Grid, and even in his duties in Flynn's System, he knew that one microcycle, when he least expected it...

Just a game. No one hurt.

You just got creamed.

He's not dead yet. Shoot him again.

... it would be him with a Disc through his chest, reduced to either a flash of light or a pile of discarded pixels. Long ago, he thought this was the only way to leave the Game Grid.

Need more ammo.

You're not going to beat my record.

When Tron became close enough to the looming, menacing object in front of him, he suddenly couldn't breathe, just as the transformation in the Portal had choked him. He couldn't even speak, or make a sound, only choke. What was this, and why was this here? Tron didn't want to look at it; he wanted to run away, to escape, to be reassured that none of this had ever happened. However, he couldn't tear his eyes away from it, because at that point, for the third time in that span of cycles or millicycles or days or whatever it had been, he _knew__._

Everything he had seen and experienced... everything he had witnessed... everything he did not want to see to the other Programs, the ones who were benevolently beckoning him Users knew how long ago...

This was _his_ fate.

No matter what he did to try to prevent it, no matter how faithful he was to the Users, his fate wouldn't change. No one would be able to save him, not even Flynn. Tron, the User Champion, the one all Programs idolized, in both Systems, as their Protector, the one who had a unique relationship with a User who was not his own... he wasn't different. It took a while for this realization to sink in, but at the moment, Tron had all the time in the world. In both Worlds.

Tron wasn't different, although many implied he was. He was just like any other Program who had ever existed.

_Doomed._

At the severity of this cruel fact, Tron fell to his knees, ignoring the jeers of the Users surrounding him. Tron ignored them, for this dark omen before him had put him in a trance, the bright lights and colors being reflected in his glazed, sorrowful eyes.

_What did I do? _Tron wanted to scream at the top of his voice capacity, although his lack of breath still choked him, made him feel dizzy. _What did I do? What did I do to deserve this?_

He reached out for it, slowly losing sense and becoming numb.

_What did I do to deserve this?_

Tron had done nothing... except _know_.

_The light's going to come back... it's always going to come back... always..._

The Users had apparently decided it was time for him to pay the price for this.

**THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHU MPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPT HUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUM PTHUMPTHUMP**

_Thump-thump... thump-thump... thump-thump... thump-thump... thump-thump..._

_What did I do to deserve this...?_

_The light's always going to come back..._

_Why was it me? Why was it me?_

_The light's **always **going to come back..._

_Why was it...?_

Tron's thoughts were cut off. The dizziness, the lack of breath... it all came back to him, hit him all at once. He couldn't take it for much longer. He remained there, on the ground, on his knees, eyes affixed to that strange omen that lay before him. Eyes stared straight ahead, before they rolled back into his head.

_The light's... always..._

He fell before the machine that seemed to be bigger than all of the others, that loomed over him as if it was a building itself, fashioned by the User-artists. For this ominous machine, unlike any of the others, had only one word printed across it, the only word that the unfortunate guest of the Arcade could read, and therefore reflect upon and realize the true horrors of it for himself.

_Thump-thump... thump-thump... thump-thump... thump-thump... thump-thump..._

_Thump-thump... thump-thump..._

_Thump-thump..._

For, as this guest had seen and lamented, the single word on the omen of his inevitable fate...

... was _**TRON**__**!**_


	12. Inferno: II

**II**

****So Flynn had gotten a little distracted. He could admit to that.

One minute, he was turning on the lights, getting everything ready for that night at the arcade; the next, some of the kids who had come early had challenged him to a game of Matrix Blaster. And another. And another. Soon, Flynn himself had lost track of time, and he had all but forgotten about his best friend wandering around in his own personal Hell. It seemed that even though Flynn sometimes got too worked up about the Grid and all of the marvelous things he was going to do with it, Flynn's true passion lay in video games. Making video games, playing video games... This was the life...

"Oh my God!"

Only when Flynn heard this did he finally pull his head out of whatever game he was playing. It was also then that he noticed the arcade was significantly quieter than usual, not because the music wasn't playing or the game cabinets were turned off, but because Flynn had a gut feeling that there was something _wrong. _

It didn't take Flynn very long to find the source of that feeling. Almost everyone in the arcade was fathered around a certain corner, all of them at once attempting to see what had happened.

"Oh my God... is he okay?"

"Should we call a doctor?"

"Is Flynn here?"

"What happened? Who is that?"

"Is he dead?"

The nervous chatter rang through Flynn's ears as he made his way through the crowd to the epicenter of all the disquiet. The more he heard, the more worried he became, and the more he was able to guess what had happened, as much as he wanted to say it wasn't true.

Once most of the kids realized who was trying to get through, they politely made way for him. It was at this time that Flynn saw for himself what had actually happened, and only part of what he had to pay for his irresponsibility.

There, in front of a certain game cabinet, lay his best friend in an unconscious heap.

Flynn took a moment to remember the other day when he had first brought Tron to the World of the Users. Flynn had made it out alright, but his guest had not. The User had distinctly remembered taking a few moments to morbidly stare at the corpse-like bag of flesh, bones, muscles and organs his friend had become; how different the Program looked with skin covering his body instead of armor and circuits. He had taken a moment to touch the skin of the former Program, only to settle the curiosity of his analytic and scientific mind. What it felt like... it was like holding Sam for the first time again at the hospital. It was ironic that a titan such as Tron would be figuratively reduced to a baby, but...

Not anymore.

Now, Flynn approached Tron and knelt beside him. He checked his friend to see if there were any physical injuries - scratches, bruises, anything that would have been a dead giveaway that Tron had been knocked out.

"He was just walking around, stumbling around for a while like he was lost or something," a girl explained when Flynn looked back up at the crowd. "He was probably drunk or something, or something must have happened."

"And then all of a sudden, he passed out right here," another girl added.

After he was satisfied with having looked Tron over, Flynn turned his attention to the congregation around them.

"Thank you for your concern," Flynn stated, "but no one's calling anyone. Don't worry; I'll take care of him." He lifted Tron, who was several pounds lighter than his own weight, and added, "I'm closing early tonight. I'm sorry, guys." Flynn held onto Tron tighter, as if the act of loosening his grasp would make the former Program fall and shatter into a million pieces. "This is something I have to take care of."

Respectfully, the kids watched in silence as Flynn carried Tron away from the arcade and back up the stairs to his 'apartment'. He took the same path he took when he carried Tron the first time, recalling the emotions he felt when he had thought his best friend hadn't fully made it through the Portal. Flynn made sure not to jostle Tron too much; he felt his friend breathing, sleeping.

_Well, at least he's alive,_ Flynn thought as he slowly walked up the stairs. _I didn't lose him. Not this time._

Flynn approached his bed and gently set Tron down, before covering his friend with the blanket that had been discarded earlier that morning. He watched Tron react, however subtly, to the fact that he was now a little bit warmer than before. Tron groaned and stirred; Flynn could have sworn he heard a soft whimper from the former Program, but his mind was probably playing tricks on him, since Tron seemed to be completely quiet otherwise.

"You'll make it, buddy," Flynn muttered, both to Tron and to himself, before walking over to the couch again. How was it that he went through the same thing two nights in a row? Three nights, even? Flynn sighed as he picked up a copy of _The Digital Frontier _from the other end of the couch. He had been meaning to sit down and read it for a while, but since he had been so busy with ENCOM (and, lately, worried about Tron), he never had a chance to pick it up and flip through it, just for old time's sake.

Flynn had gotten through two or three chapters before he heard a rustling sound from the back of the room. He looked up; as he had predicted, Tron was beginning to wake up... or so it seemed.

The whimpering that Flynn thought he had heard earlier was getting louder, until Flynn realized that something was _wrong. _The book fell harmlessly to the floor as Flynn raced to Tron's bedside. He had a feeling that now wasn't just a case of whether Tron was breathing or not. It was clearly the opposite; Flynn could hear Tron's breathing from halfway across the room, almost as if his friend was gasping for air. His chest was heaving violently as he seemed to struggle against something. Flynn couldn't quite figure out what exactly had Tron so perplexed.

As if Flynn's subtle movements had alerted Tron's subconscious, the former Program had begun to thrash and buck, as if attempting to fight off an invisible foe or escape from a danger only he could see. Some of Tron's blind blows had almost struck Flynn, but the User ducked out of the way just in time.

"Tron? Tron!" Flynn exclaimed, trying and failing to keep as calm as possible.

Suddenly, without any sign of having been provoked, Tron let out a howling shriek that would have made anyone remaining in the arcade turn their heads.

"NO! **NO!** **_NOOOOOOOO!_**" Tron yowled to his unseen enemy, and as Tron's body shook, Flynn thought he sensed a quiver in Tron's voice.

"Tron? TRON!" Flynn attempted once more, not exactly sure what to do. "Tron, wake up! Wake up!"

Tron howled once again; whenever he wasn't flailing or thrashing, his entire body was shaking with evident fear. Flynn could see tiny droplets running down Tron's face, but there was no way he could tell whether these were sweat or tears.

"**STOP IT!**_" _Tron screamed, and he thrashed and kicked so hard, some of the sheets flew off the bed. "**STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!**"

Flynn had to jump back in order to keep from getting punched or kicked. He'd never seen Tron this violent before, except when he was out fighting gridbugs and viruses. What had happened to him? Did accidentally leaving him in the arcade affect him that mu-

Flynn's thoughts were cut off by yet another scream. It was clear that whatever had happened in that arcade, it had been nothing good. Even though Tron looked to be perfectly fine, in his dreams, he was obviously suffering, and it showed. Flynn watched as tears began to stream down his friend's face, which contorted in a mixture of fear and pain every time he screamed.

Flynn couldn't take it any longer. He began yelling his pleas at the top of his lungs, hoping they would break through to Tron's subconscious and pull him out of his nightmare. He kept yelling as Tron continued to scream and thrash, even going so far as to grab his friend's arm in the hopes that he would at least get Tron's attention.

After what seemed like hours of yelling and screaming, Tron's eyes snapped open. He froze, his wide eyes red and puffy from having sobbed so heavily. He stared straight ahead, taking slow and heavy breaths. A few more tears fell as Tron attempted to comprehend the fact that everything that had just happened was only in his head.

"Tron?" Flynn hesitantly asked, now not knowing what to expect from the traumatized User-type.

At the sound of his name, Tron slowly turned around and looked at Flynn with an expression that Flynn had never seen him have before: fear and helplessness.

"Flynn," Tron gasped.

Tron attempted to sit up; Flynn, not knowing what else to do at that time, immediately embraced his friend. He didn't know what Tron had went through, but he didn't want it to happen again. Tron didn't object to this; he wrapped his arms tightly around Flynn as well, clinging to the User for his life.

"It's okay," Flynn whispered to Tron. "It's okay. No one's going to hurt you. Not while I'm still here. No one's going to get you."

"It was so scary," Tron whispered. These words were strange, coming out of Tron's mouth. Tron, the fearless Warrior, the one every Program on the Grid and even in the ENCOM System looked up to, was not supposed to be sobbing in his arms, traumatized by nightmares, or even needing to be consoled. However, Flynn then realized, maybe Tron was from a System where it was not feminine or masculine to cry, but _human_.

The two of them stayed that way for a period of time, before Tron spoke again.

"Where were you?" he whispered so softly that Flynn could barely hear him.

"What do you mean?" Flynn asked almost as softly, still protectively embracing his friend.

"When you left. You said you were going to come back," Tron replied, tilting his head so that he could look at Flynn.

Flynn paused, before replying, "I was setting up. I was making sure everything was ready before I opened up the arcade. Then I... I got distracted. Sorry."

* * *

It didn't make sense.

It didn't make ANY sense.

Tron couldn't believe what he was hearing. Flynn said he had to set up and open up? Did that mean...?

No. That was crazy. This was Flynn, after all. Tron trusted him; he wouldn't do anything like that, especially since he created the Grid. It would just be wrong.

Flynn was a good User. There were plenty of bad Users, Tron had learned, but Flynn was a good User. Flynn wouldn't stand for senselessly slaughtering Programs...

But he did say he got distracted...

Tron wouldn't believe that. Flynn was a good User, and Flynn said that everything was going to be okay and nothing was going to hurt him and that the light was always going to come back...

Tron thought back to when he had first pondered this, back when he and Flynn were heading back from the 'park'. they were approaching the building, the one Tron would go inside and be trapped in the dark and where he would soon _know_...

He suddenly remembered first looking at the building, comparing it to the corresponding building on the Grid in the heart of Tron City, and observing that it had the name-

...

...

...

* * *

Flynn suddenly felt Tron shoving him off. The User was startled by this sudden reaction from Tron.

"Tron," he instinctively stated in more of a harsh tone than he intended to use, "what's gotten into you?"

Tron didn't respond. He only narrowed his eyes and glared at the User. If looks could kill, Flynn would have probably been impaled.

"You," Tron hissed through gritted teeth."

Flynn swallowed; an angry Tron was a very dangerous Tron. Starting to sense he was in trouble (for something he probably did), he hesitantly asked, "Me? What about me?"

"All of this," Tron gruffly replied, "this whole... place. It's yours?"

Flynn didn't know how to answer this. "Well... yeah," he squeaked.

"Are you even aware of what happens here? Or were you too 'distracted' to notice?" Tron growled, but for some reason, he didn't approach Flynn and attempt to strangle him. Almost as if Tron was afraid.

Wait, Tron afraid of _him_? There had to be something wrong.

"Of course I am," Flynn replied as casually as he could at that moment. "People come, and they play video ga-"

... _shit._

"And you choose to do nothing? You just stand there and watch? Do you... _like _it?!"

"Well, I-" Flynn stammered, more than aware that he was now digging himself into a hole that he may as well get comfortable in. "... It's fun."

Tron's face turned a deep red. Wrong answer. "'It's fun'? Is that all you're going to say? Programs are being slaughtered by Users hundreds at a time - I know, I _heard _them 0 and no one is doing anything, and you say that's **FUN**? Maybe you don't watch. Maybe you're actually **DOING** it along with them! Is that why you think it's **FUN**?"

In his fear, Flynn attempted to calm himself. "Look, Tron, this is all a misunderstanding..." He attempted to approach his friend, but Tron backed up against the wall.

"Don't. Come. Any. Closer," Tron growled, and Flynn immediately backed up. All of Trons' threats became promises.

"Tron, just... let me explain, please?" Flynn meekly asked, although he had a feeling that Tron was more afraid of him than he was of Tron. "I promise, this is all going to get resolved..."

"You didn't answer my question," Tron hissed.

"Tron, please, let me explain-"

"_**ANSWER ME!**_" Tron yelled, the realization that he had just made that harsh of a command to a User completely slipping his mind. "Do you play these _games_?"

Flynn hesitated, before sighing; there was no way around it now. "... Yes."

Tron emitted something that sounded like a snarl. "How could you?" he yelled, so absorbed in his anger and disgust that he took several threatening steps toward Flynn. "I trusted you! I fought for you and your kind, and you do this behind my back! How long have you done this? How long have you **_KNOWN_**?"

"Look, Tron, I..." Flynn stammered, "... I didn't know."

Tron grew silent. He clenched his hands into quivering fists.

"... You didn't know? You **DIDN'T ****_KNOW_**?! You yourself fought in the Games, you watched Programs derezz before your very eyes, you... you knew what the stakes were. Don't say you didn't know, because... because you **DID**. For as long as we've been friends, you **KNEW**. And still, you go and do this. I'm ashamed of you, Flynn."

Suddenly getting a burst of courage, Flynn exclaimed, "It's not like that's your problem! You're safe, the Grid is safe, you're away from all of that! If anything, you're even safer now because you're _here_! You don't need to worry about video games anymore!"

Tron was caught off guard by Flynn's sudden and unexpected answer. His expression softened, and his face began to turn more its natural color.

"Do you think... I care about... just myself?" Tron asked, his voice breaking as tears started to form once again in his human eyes. "Do you think... I care... about just the Grid?"

Flynn realized his mistake. He started to slowly approach Tron again, even though he knew it was the worst thing he could do at that moment. He tried one last time, "Tron... I'm sorry."

"Sorry's not going to do anything," Tron stated, his voice quivering while he choked back sobs. Flynn wasn't sure if Tron's red eyes and tear-streaked face made him less or more threatening. "Sorry's not going to bring any of the Programs back. Sorry's not going to keep anyone from causing any more unnecessary derezzings. I don't think you understand the severity of the situation, Flynn." Tron glared at Flynn, daring the User to take just a single step closer. "These aren't just Programs. In fact, they were never 'just Programs'. These are my kind, Flynn. My species. What if it was me? What if it was Ram?"

Flynn froze. Ram... the fallen hero who was the first non-MCP Program to learn that Flynn was a User. He had dishonored his and Tron's friend's memory by completely forgetting about him for almost three years.

"I thought so," Tron replied, the calmest he had been that night. "Maybe you should have considered that before going through with this... this madness."

Now that Tron seemed relatively calm, Flynn hesitantly decided to ask the question he had wanted to ask since Tron's "epiphany". "... Do you still want to stay here? I can take you home if you want to go now."

Tron froze. It seemed like he was contemplating this, but with the more time that had passed, the more Flynn was starting to regret asking that question.

Finally, Tron had an answer.

"No," he bluntly replied, before looking Flynn straight in the eye, his own eyes filled with sadness. "I can't, now. I can't go back. To know that Users do this... to know that it could happen and would happen to me next... I can't perform my duties knowing that. But I can't live with the fact that it's _not _me, either. I can;t live in a World where innocent Programs derezz and not wish it was me instead." He tried to blink away incoming tears, but there was no way he could hold his mourning back. "I don't want to stay here," he added, "but I can't go back."

Tron sat back down on the bed. He buried his face in his hands, before starting to sob, this time not holding anything back. Flynn was smart enough to leave him alone, but he couldn't help but to think about what Tron had said. He didn't want to stay in the World of the Users because of everything he had seen the Users do at the arcade, but that was also why he didn't want to go back to the Grid. Flynn took a moment to think about all of the things Tron was giving up in his decision to stay in the World of the Users. He'd be giving up his function, his work, his very purpose in life... _all because he had seen too_ _much._

Flynn thought long and hard before he spoke again. "Tron... do you want me to take you out of here? I know a good place, far away from here, where we can spend the night. You'll never have to see this place again. Then... Then, we could go to the park again tomorrow. I know you like going there." Flynn's voice wavered, knowing all too well that he was pushing his luck. "It'll make you feel better. And... I could tell you all about the different kinds of trees and anim-"

"**_NO!_**" Tron shouted, looking up at Flynn with that same glare from earlier. "Get away from me!" He jumped to his feet and retreated as far away from Flynn as he possibly could. "This is all your fault! If I would have known before... even when we first met... I would have derezzed you sooner, if I knew that if you had a chance to go back, you'd go back to... _that._"

That struck Flynn where it hurt. "Tron," Flynn remarked, chuckling nervously, "isn't that a little... extreme?"

"Not for you," Tron panted. "Now that I know... I don't know how you can live with yourself. How you haven't gotten what you deserved, especially on the Grid. You do this, and you still have the courage to be the Creator in the eyes of all these Programs?" Tron paused, before sneering. "Wait. I forgot. You're a _monster. _You don't _care._"

"Tron, that's not true-"

"_**I KNOW WHAT'S TRUE**__,_" Tron yelled, tears still streaming down his face. "I saw it with my own eyes. You don't tell me what's not true, you _coward_!" Blinded by his rage, Tron marched over to Flynn, standing right in front of him, all sign of fear wiped out of his body. "You are a _sick_,**_despicable _**piece of malware, and I _**never**_want to see _you_, or the _likes _of you, _**EVER AGAIN IN MY LIFE!**_"

Too angry to think twice, Tron brought up his arm and struck Flynn square in the jaw.


	13. Inferno: III

**III**

Alan wanted to see Tron again.

Even after a long day at work, Alan still couldn't explain the feeling he got from seeing Tron for the first time, in the flesh. He wanted to say it was a paternal instinct, but he knew that if this was the case, he did not raise his child in the way that he should have done. He could recall no memories of himself and Tron; he had not watched his creation grow, learn, or even experience anything. He had not taught; he had not been pelted by questions from an inquisitive mind. No birthdays, no Christmases, no giving or receiving gifts or deeds or even friendly smiles. Neither one knew what the other liked to do, liked to think about, liked to talk about, what friends he had, what troubles he had, what made him laugh, what made him cry… All one knew of the other was his name, and barely that.

If the relationship that he and the Programs shared was that of father and son, Alan felt guilty. If only he had known what Flynn had known, seen what Flynn had seen, he would have treated his complex strings of coding not with more care, but with more reverence. But how could he have known, reacting like anyone else would to Flynn's absurd claims of having "gone into the System"? However… he had always had an instinct, a feeling that his algorithms were different; that when he spent long hours typing and editing code, constantly testing and constantly debugging, he was creating more than just a security Program, just another addition to the ENCOM files. He was creating _life_. This Program was going to be different from any other Program ever written. This Program, TRON-JA-307020 - function: security; written by: Alan Bradley, 1980/1; property of: ENCOM Center City Branch; annexed by: Kevin Flynn, 1983/1 – was _special_.

And so Alan felt guilty. Had he obtained access to the technology, he would have been the one to visit Tron, or bring Tron into the real world with him. He wanted to be the one to see the Program's misty eyes at first seeing the sun, the light of Paradise. He should have been there to answer all of the questions, explain everything down to the thinnest blade of grass and the tiniest insect. He wanted to tell his child 'good night' and send him to sleep on more than just one occasion.

So, even though he had told Flynn otherwise as work was getting busier and busier, Alan went back.

He didn't know why, but as soon as he parked his car outside the arcade, Alan knew something was wrong. Maybe it was a part of that paternal instinct he had developed over the past twenty-four hours, but it was definitely because the arcade seemed much quieter. Alan saw why: almost the entire block was deserted, rid of even the people who had made the arcade their regular haunt. Even though Alan could still hear the music and see the flashing lights from outside, he had a feeling that Flynn had closed it early tonight for some reason.

Alan got out of his car and quickly made his way to the door. It probably had something to do with Tron.

Much to Alan's relief, the door was still unlocked. Alan entered and briefly scanned the arcade for any sign of people. There was no one there, but over the sounds of the games and whatever popular band was blowing up the speakers, Alan heard familiar voices.

"_**NO! **_Get away from me! This is all your fault!"

Tron. Alan recognized that voice immediately. Alan quickened his pace as he attempted to find out where the voices were coming from.

"I would have derezzed you sooner, if I knew if you had a chance to go back, you'd go back to… _that._"

"Tron… isn't that a little extreme?"

"Not for you… Now that I know… I don't know how you can live with yourself. How you haven't gotten what you deserved."

This sounded like trouble. Alan broke out into a run as he found the voices grew louder the closer he got to the entrance to Flynn's 'apartment'.

"You're a _monster_. You don't _care_."

"Tron, that's not true-"

"_**I KNOW WHAT'S TRUE!**_"

Alan found the door leading to the arcade's 'office'.

"You are a _sick_, _**despicable **_piece of malware, and I _**never **_want to see _you_, or the _likes _of you, _**EVER AGAIN IN MY LIFE!**_"

There was a loud thump, and Alan heard Flynn exclaiming. He raced up the steps and burst into the room.

* * *

As soon as Tron saw the consequences of his rage, he took several steps away from Flynn, horrified.

Flynn seemed to be fine at first; he was only caught off guard, though he seemed to also be in pain. Tron, immediately regretting his actions, was about to approach Flynn to console him (the sheer sacrilege of his actions finally catching up to him) when Flynn did… something strange.

A few quiet coughs escaped Flynn's throat. Then, they gradually grew louder, before Flynn spit out a few small reddish-white objects, accompanied by a… red ooze.

"Guy's got a damn strong arm," Flynn breathed almost inaudibly, and as he spoke, more red ooze came out of his mouth. As it almost completely coated Flynn's lower lip, some of it started to drip down to his chin and jaw (Tron could now tell where Flynn had been hurt, as his skin in that area had become a strange color), leaving a dark red trail behind. Tron choked on his breath as Flynn's chin and neck were almost completely adorned with dark red trails of whatever in the name of the Users that ooze was.

Tron was terrified. He knew he had made the wrong decision in attacking Flynn, but he didn't know this was going to happen because of it.

"I'm sorry," Tron blubbered, slowly backing away from the oozing User until he could back away no longer. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry… Users, Users, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"Tron," Flynn opened his mouth to speak, but Tron noticed even from afar that part of Flynn's mouth was completely coated in red, and his breath had an odd scent (scent? It was probably one of those User instincts that Tron simply had to trust) that made Tron dizzy. He stumbled against the wall, unable to take his eyes off the Flynn-thing.

Flynn moaned loudly, before wiping some of the red ooze off his chin, staining his hand in the process.

"Y'damn Program," he wheezed, and some more ooze spilled from his mouth as he spoke.

"Tron!"

Flynn suddenly looked toward the door, startled, and Tron did the same. Alan One stood in the doorway, watching all of this unfold; he looked absolutely appalled.

"Alan One!" Completely disregarding the Flynn-thing, Tron rushed across the room and nearly knocked his User over with the sheer force of his impact. Tron wrapped his arms tightly around his User, relieved that there was finally someone safe, someone he could trust.

* * *

Why did a child cry? Was it for a want, or for a need? Was it for attention, or for comfort? Alan pondered this as a force nearly equal to his own weight almost sent him stumbling backward. He could not see Tron's face, as the Program was hunched over, his face buried in Alan's chest. As he leaned forward to tenderly stroke his creation's hair, he heard soft, choking sobs. So Alan's suspicions had been confirmed. He had a feeling that Tron was not the type to cry easily.

As he continued in his attempt to comfort Tron, Alan looked up and over toward Flynn. Blood trailed down his friend's mouth and chin. Alan could probably guess what had happened, but he wanted to know _why_.

"What did you do to him?" Alan hissed through his teeth to Flynn.

"Nothing!" Flynn insisted, and a few more drops of blood came out of his mouth.

Alan wouldn't take that as an answer. Not with how tightly Tron was holding him. "What did you _do_?!" he repeated.

"He got mad at me, he punched me in the face, and apparently, he's scared of blood," Flynn replied.

"Flynn," Alan warned in a gruff voice, one that heavily resembled Tron's.

Flynn sighed.

"He got lost in the arcade, and there was a huge misunderstanding. Saying he's perfectly fine is a bit of a stretch, but..."

"Some misunderstanding. I doubt just a 'misunderstanding' would get you socked in the face," Alan replied, now resting his hand on that head of mouse-brown hair so like his own. "You're not in a bar, Flynn. Better watch your mouth before you get it bashed up again."

Alan looked back down at the Program – no – _human _in his arms and then up at Flynn again. Even though it was against his better judgment, especially with his busy work schedule, Alan knew a troubled soul when he saw one – especially since he had practically made this one with his own hands.

"I'll take care of him," Alan stated boldly, his embrace tightening. "I'll take care of him until he can take care of himself."

Alan felt Tron's head tilt to look up at him, and there was a palpable sense of relief in the Program.

Flynn, in all his bloodied glory, paused for a moment to think. Finally looking Alan in the eye with what he swore was a guilty expression, he replied, "Go ahead."

Alan gave a nod of thanks.

"Oh, and by the way," Alan added, raising an eyebrow, "you might want to get that washed off. You don't want to scare anyone else."

Alan slowly led Tron out of the room, gently nudging him down the stairs and through the maze of the arcade. As the lights flashed and the music blared, Alan felt Tron holding onto him even tighter than before, almost to the point of Tron's fingernails digging into Alan's suit and even skin. Alan heard Tron softly whimper, almost as if being in this very room brought back terrible, terrible memories. He held Tron tighter and closer to him as the door gradually grew closer and closer.

"It's okay, Tron, it's okay," Alan softly whispered, once again stroking Tron's hair in an attempt to alleviate his fear. "You're safe now. We're almost out of there. You're safe now."

Alan acknowledged Tron's evident fear of the arcade; what he didn't understand was _why_. Apparently, he had missed a lot since he had last seen Tron, and he had a feeling that a good portion of what he had missed wasn't good. Alan understood Tron's fear from when they had first met; after all, Tron had only just woken up in a completely different World than the one he was used to seeing. He had been cold, scared, and lost, and Alan pondered how this would have affected the being that was known to many as the great Warrior of the Digital World. Now… Now, Tron was visibly shaken by more than just being in the real world. Had he been spooked by the rowdiness of the arcade? All of the noise? He wondered what all Tron had seen, heard, and realized in order to cause him so much fear. Alan even swore there was a part of that fear that was directed at Flynn himself, the very man who had pulled the Program into the real world in the first place, and that was likely what led to the "misunderstanding" that Flynn had mentioned and of which Alan had heard the tail end. However, he knew that he would probably be hearing about all of this later. For now, Tron was likely too traumatized to even speak.

The flashing lights had become almost solid dark, and the music had faded away to the background, overpowered by the sounds of the night and nighttime traffic.

"See, you're out of there," Alan whispered, slowly unwrapping his arms from Tron's body. "You're safe. You're out of there. No one's going to get you."

It was strange, having to act this way around what seemed to be a grown man around his own age (if not a little younger) and height, but Alan knew that no normal grown man had ever experienced anything close to what Tron had gone through, whatever it had been. Tron slowly let go of his creator and stood up straight, reddened eyes and tear-streaked face taking in the evening atmosphere. It had rained for about fifteen minutes, Alan had noticed on the way back from ENCOM, and the sidewalks and road were completely wet. Tron seemed to be alarmed by the sudden dampness of the atmosphere, but Alan put a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on," Alan whispered, coaxing Tron away from looking back at the ghastly arcade and inviting him over to the car. "Let's go home."

Alan led Tron over to the passenger door and opened it for him. After a moment, Tron seemed to realize what Alan wanted and stepped inside, sitting on the seat and attempting to make himself comfortable. Not being used to the fact that there was someone in his presence who knew absolutely nothing about the ways of the world, Alan hesitated for a moment before realizing that Tron wasn't going to put on his seatbelt himself. Tron's eyes followed his creator's hand as Alan reached over to secure the seatbelt in place. The expression on Tron's face implied that the Program was not used to being so helpless, and Alan understood completely. It must have been hard for him, both to adjust to being in the world and to go through whatever it had been that traumatized him so much. Alan had a feeling that he wasn't going to get to see the real Tron until his creation was a little more comfortable with being in the world.

Tron continued to watch as Alan made his way around the car to the driver's side. He entered, put on his seatbelt, and started the car, all in complete silence. He didn't want to disturb Tron, especially since Tron seemed to have had such a traumatic experience. Surprisingly, though, Tron was the one between them to speak first.

"Where are we going?" Tron quietly asked, seeming to be fascinated by the city lights out the window.

"Home," Alan simply replied, every once in a while taking a moment to look over at Tron to see how he was doing.

"Where is 'home'?" Tron insisted, turning toward Alan at last.

Alan sighed; after what he had seen and heard with Flynn, Tron deserved to know the truth. "My house. It's just outside of town. It's a nice little house, friendly neighborhood, very comfortable place. You'll like it. It's a very nice change from the arcade."

Tron paused, before turning back toward the window, the colorful lights (much more mellow than those of the arcade) catching his eye and whizzing past just in time for more to appear. "Is that what it's called? 'Arcade'?"

Alan glanced over at Tron, intrigued. "Yes. It's a place where young people come to play video games." Pause. "You don't like video games?"

Pause.

"No," Tron replied. Pause. "Programs getting derezzed hundreds at a time. Innocent Programs."

Alan didn't know what 'derezzed' meant, but he had a good guess; it explained a lot about Tron's fear.

"Does anyone else know about these Programs?" Alan asked, stopping at a red light.

Tron paused for a moment, thinking. "I don't know. I know that Flynn knows – he knows about Programs, after all, because we met during the reign of the MCP," – Alan remembered that well – "and later, he created the Grid. I don't know if any other Users know, though."

"Users?"

Tron looked over at Alan, confused. His face was beginning to become its normal color again, but that was partially due to the lighting outside. Tron's eyes were still slightly red, however.

"Your kind," Tron explained. "I think it's called… '_hu-man_'?"

Alan nodded. "Humans. Flynn is the only one you've seen?"

"Yeah, I think."

Alan took a moment to think about his next question. "Do you know anything about humans – Users?"

Sheepishly, Tron shook his head.

"Flynn didn't tell you anything?"

"Well," Tron started, "Flynn took me to the 'park'… to see the 'sun'… and he also told me and showed me all kinds of things. I… don't remember the name of everything right now, but…" Tron trailed off.

Alan didn't know how to respond to that. A few moments later, though, he asked, "How was the sun?"

"Beautiful," Tron replied, while Alan noticed the light was green and hit the gas again. "I've never seen anything like it in my life."

"Never?" Alan asked, his eyes solely on the road ahead of them.

"Never," Tron replied. "I've never seen a World that was… so full of light. Not for so long. Most of what I live in is… mostly darkness, compared to what I saw earlier. Kind of like this, actually."

Alan frowned. "The Grid is dark like this?"

"Maybe darker in some places."

"Does it look like this?"

"This World?"

"Yeah."

Tron paused. "Kind of. Some things look the same. Like the buildings, and how they have their individual lights. The Light Cycles, too, or… whatever they're called here."

Alan raised an eyebrow. He'd probably get an explanation about all of this later when they got home.

"So, Flynn had an eye for detail." He chuckled at the thought, although it was something Flynn probably would do.

"I guess."

Another pause. "Are you… happy on the Grid?" Alan asked.

"Sort of."

"Sort of?" Alan could afford another glance at Tron. He had given Flynn his permission to copy the TRON program over to his own personal System, the Grid, but Alan would have never even thought of considering Tron's perspective, never in a million years.

"I couldn't contact you," Tron replied, a sad tone in his voice. "I didn't know what to do. I just accepted Flynn as my new User."

Alan immediately felt guilty. He knew it hadn't been a good idea to give Tron to Flynn, but he also knew that this decision was indirectly what had led to the two of them talking as they were now. "You missed me?"

"More than anything."

Alan stopped at another red light and looked over at Tron again. "I missed you, too."

Neither creator nor creation spoke for the rest of the way home. Once Alan pulled into the driveway in front of his house, he looked over at Tron and smiled warmly.

"Well, we're home," he stated, removing his seatbelt and opening the door to get out. He noticed that Tron hadn't followed suit (it was still very difficult to comprehend the fact that Tron wasn't as human as he had previously thought), so Alan let Tron out from the passenger's side. "Welcome," he added as Tron stepped out of the car.

* * *

Traveling through the city and the 'park' when there was light had been like nothing Tron had ever experienced before. However, traveling through the city in its darkness had been an adventure. Even though it was similar to the Grid in its darkness, the World of the Users was still very strange and fascinating; despite what had happened in what Alan One had called the 'Arcade', Tron still found himself filled with wonder. Even though it was like the Grid, the Grid was made in its image, and Tron felt honored to see the source material. Tron did notice, however, that the farther away from the 'Arcade' they became and the closer to Alan One's destination they became, the quieter and more peaceful their surroundings became. It was a pleasant surprise for Tron, and he found that he liked this part of the World of the Users better than the City.

When the not-Light-Cycle-but-also-not-Ducati vehicle stopped in front of a moderately small building, Tron looked it over curiously. It wasn't like the massively tall buildings of the Grid. It was a strange little building, nothing like Tron had ever seen before. Once Alan One let him out of the vehicle, Tron scrutinized the quiet building before looking around at the dramatically different atmosphere. The sky was dark and clear, like on the Grid, but in the sky as well were millions of stars, serenely glittering in a way that Tron had seen only few times before.

"You have stars here," Tron quietly observed.

Alan One turned to look at him. "You've never seen stars before?"

Tron shook his head. "Not for many, many cycles. I almost forgot what they looked like."

"There aren't any stars on the Grid?"

Tron shook his head. "Just in the ENCOM System." He leaned against the not-Light-Cycle vehicle and gazed up into infinity above. "I always used to think that each one of those stars was the eye of a User, watching over the System. I always tried to find you, but all of the stars looked the same." He sighed. "I wonder what they represent here, now that I'm_ in _the World of the Users."

Tron felt a nearby presence. He turned and saw that Alan One was standing beside him.

"I believe there's someone watching over us, too," Alan One quietly replied in Tron's ear. "Someone obviously wanted us to be able to finally see each other."

The two of them stood gazing at the stars for several moments, before Alan One invited Tron inside 'home'.

'Home' (or 'House', as Alan One called it) was like a maze of small rooms, one connected to the other, and each of them looking different than the last. Tron analyzed his surroundings with great curiosity, but he always stayed close to Alan One. After all, he didn't want to make any unexpected moves that Alan One wouldn't like. Tron explored from afar; in each room were all kinds of strange, different things, some of which he faintly recognized from having been on the Grid, and some being things that Tron had never seen before, or never even imagined. Each room in this massive maze was different, and Tron wondered what purpose each of them served, since it was clear that only Alan One lived here.

Finally, Alan One opened a door (User doors were very strange, and they looked difficult to operate!) into a small room that was similar to Flynn's room at the 'Arcade', except much, much neater. Tron recognized a bed at the far end of the room, and a small table next to it.

"And this is your room," Alan One concluded his tour, while Tron hesitantly stepped inside. It was a nice, clean, cozy-looking little room, and Tron wondered why Alan One wanted to give him living quarters as nice as these. When Tron had paused midstep in his exploring, Alan One urged, "Go on."

"This is mine?" Tron asked his User after a moment. "All of this is mine?" When Alan One nodded, Tron insisted, "All of this belongs to... _me_?"

Alan One nodded again. "I'll dig up some of my old clothes so we don't have to go out and get some new ones. I'm pretty sure they'll fit you. Go on, you don't need my permission." As Alan One unknowingly echoed Flynn, Tron carefully approached 'his' bed and sat down on its edge, rubbing the sheets and feeling how soft the material was. He looked up as Alan One continued to speak.

"However, I'll worry about all of that tomorrow. Right now, you..." he paused, before muttering, "Oh, God, where do I start...?" After a moment, though, Alan One figured out what he was going to say. "First and foremost, you need a bath. God knows what Flynn let you roll in all day." Tron didn't recall doing any rolling during his time in the World of the Users. "Next, you... you need to get to bed. You've had a long day, and you deserve some rest."

Tron couldn't argue with that logic. He let Alan One lead him to 'bath' (which was apparently how Users refreshed themselves while being covered in Energy - Users were weird), and once Tron's body didn't feel slimy anymore, Alan One gave him another set of 'clothes' that were specifically for 'bed'. Alan One's 'clothes' fit almost perfectly (there were slight differences in their body frames, but there was nothing that made a huge impact), and so Alan One stayed by Tron's side as Tron sank into 'his' bed.

"You've had a long day," Alan One whispered, brushing some of Tron's hair out of his face. "You've been through a lot. You deserve some rest." Pause. "I'll be just down the hall if you need me. I showed you where my room is." That part hadn't made much sense, as the rest of Alan One's home was made up of his 'rooms'. "You need anything else right now?"

Tron paused for a moment to think, before, "No."

Alan One smiled warmly. "Okay. Good night, Tron." He briefly ruffled Tron's hair before turning around and heading out the door. Tron wasn't sure what 'good night' meant, so he simply smiled and watched Alan One leave.

As soon as Alan One left, Tron felt like he was in another Pull. Everything was dark, everything was silent, and it only took a few moments for Tron to realize that Alan One was gone. Tron had a feeling he himself hadn't gone anywhere, as he was still laying down bundled in the 'sheets', but there was the sinking feeling that he wasn't safely in Alan One's home anymore. The only way Tron could tell he hadn't gone anywhere was from the window on the opposite wall, in the same place, allowing sight of the now Grid-like World of the Users. And occasionally, there was light coming in - were those shadows? Those shadows, they flickered with the light. Did those shadows look like-? No, that was probably his mind. He was tired. He needed to obey Alan One's command of 'rest' in order to perform at optimum lev- what was that sound? Did that shadow just flicker? Did something just move?

Tron was brought back to the Pull, when there was no way of knowing what waited for him in the darkness. There was also that brief time of darkness at the 'Arcade', right before those horrible, horrible Games... At least here, Tron had a 'bed' to sink into, 'sheets' to cover himself (and/or hide under, as he no longer had any defenses being in the World of the Users), and a 'pillow' to sooth his dizzy, anxious head.

Tron stayed awake for a while, ears perked at every little sound, every little movement that occurred in the darkness. There was nothing that went undetected and unacknowledged. Part of the reason for ignoring his order and insisting on patrol instead, though, was also due to the fact that Tron remembered what had happened last time he had 'rested' for a long period of time, after seeing those horrible, horrible Games. Tron still shivered at the thought of it, and how it looked so _**REAL**_...

But Alan One was here this time. Alan One was going to protect him. Because that was what Users did for their Programs.

Body finally overcoming willpower, Tron closed his eyes.


	14. Inferno: IV

IV

****_He was running._

_Running in several directions at once. He was in a maze. A very long, very large maze with very high walls over which he couldn't climb. The way became narrower and narrower, then wide, then the narrowest it had ever been. It changed with every turn. There were other Programs there as lost as he was. But he couldn't talk. He only had to keep running._

_Dead end._

_Dead end._

_Dead end._

_Dead end._

_He had already seen this path._

_Dead end._

_Tron's ears perked. He heard laughter, gradually getting louder and louder. Hoping it would give him some sort of clue, Tron followed the sound._

_As he ran, he stepped on a slightly discolored fragment of the path, and that was the only time he stopped. His reflexes as quick as ever, Tron looked up just in time to see a giant blade falling out of infinity, intent on slicing him in half. He jumped out of the way just in time, but came into the view of a Program who had not been as lucky. Tron barely had time to shout to him as the blade fell onto the unfortunate Program, causing both halves of him to collapse into a terrified pile of pixels. Tron stared, mouth agape, as the laughter intensified to hooting and howling. There was no option but to keep running._

_Everywhere Torn looked, there was another Program becoming booby-trapped and derezzed. Tron was careful not to set off any traps of his own, but when he did, he managed to barely escape by a thread. How and why he managed to do so..._

_Alan One must be helping me,__he thought. __  
_

_Tron kept running and running, his feet sometimes scattering random piles of former Programs that were laying around. He had no time to respect their memories, although he acknowledged them with a solemn blink of his eye. He had to get __out._

_He had to get __out._

_The fewer Programs there became in the maze, the more frequent and violent the traps became. Tron had to run even faster and be more careful to avoid the fates of most of the other Programs present. The laughter - from outside, SOMEWHERE - also grew louder and louder and more rigorous until it made Tron's ears hurt. The sound alone was slowly compressing his head, contracting it tightly over his User-type head-parts..._

_He saw the exit. He ran toward the exit, relieved that all of this was over. Tron wouldn't have to see any more Programs be brutally derezzed ever..._

_The maze emptied into a wasteland, almost like the remnants of a ravaged field. Tron saw many virus-worms – wormware, he remembered them being called on the Grid - slithering around, and he even had to step over a few of them. Fat, sickly yellow worms with throbbing golden circuitry, oozing plasma from their mouths and pores. Some were so wide and fat that they could have devoured Tron's whole arm. Others could have devoured Tron himself, if they would have bothered to do so. Tron had plenty of experience in dealing with these fiends; he had had to clean wormware plasma off his Disc multiple times for having to chop them in half or otherwise destroy them. He wondered why there was an entire colony of them here, of all places._

_In the midst of all of the disgusting viruses was Flynn. Flynn, in his User World attire. He smiled at Tron as the Program approached him._

_"Flynn," Tron greeted, grinning. Despite their earlier disagreement, Tron was simply thankful he had run into someone who wasn't going to try and kill him._

_"Tron," Flynn replied, wearing an equally large and jubilant grin. "You made it, buddy!"_

_"Have you been waiting here long?" Tron asked, although he really wanted to confront Flynn about why he was there. However, Tron had a feeling he didn't want to know the answer._

_"For a while, but long enough," Flynn replied, before glancing over at a particularly large and fat virus-worm slowly inching along the terrain. "I'd like to get out of here soon, though. These wormware give me the creeps."_

_"What are they doing here?" Tron asked, jumping out of the way of a smaller virus-worm popping out of the ground._

_"Who knows?" Flynn replied. "Probably to feast on all of the pixels in the maze, along with some of the coding. There's a lot, so they'll be full for a while."_

_Tron hadn't heard that theory before. He knew that wormware devoured coding at a more rapid rate than gridbugs, but… "They devour derezzed Programs?"_

_Flynn nodded. "Oh, definitely. But… Every once in a while… they… they sometimes eat the living ones, too."_

_Tron choked on his breath. He didn't know wormware did that, either!_

_"Of course, you have nothing to worry about," Flynn added, extending a hand toward Tron. "You're safe on the Grid. In my System. You're safe. You're safe. You're ssssssssaaaaaasssssssssfffff ffeeeeeeeefaaaaaaaasssssssss sfffffeeeeesssssssssss-"_

_Flynn's voice became distorted and full of static as a virus-worm had materialized behind him and had Flynn's right leg firmly in its jaws. The plasma leaked from the wormware onto its prey, and soon the two began to fuse, making Flynn's leg fatter and sickly-yellow._

_More wormware came, and each had its grip on Flynn, who by now had speech so garbled, Tron could barely even pick up its tone. Tron fell back and stared in horror as Flynn's entire body gradually became swelled and oozing plasma. Flynn's User-Circuitry became swelled as well - protruding, rapidly throbbing, and pus-golden in color._

_"Flynn?" Tron squeaked as the User's legs began to fuse and stretch far, far longer than both User and Program combined were tall. Flynn writhed, and his arms and body also fused, absorbing more wormware and becoming broader and broader. What was this?!_

_The User had become a gargantuan virus-worm, with even a single tooth larger than Tron's entire body._

_"mmmmmmmmmmsysysysysysysysysy syssssmmmmmmmmmsysysysysysys ysysssmmmmmmmsssssmmmsssmaaa aaaaaaaaaassssssssffffffffff fsssssmmmsss…"_

_Tron screamed at the top of his sound capacity and ran in the only direction he could; back into the maze._

_Twists and turns, scattered pixels of Programs that continued to be trampled over, somehow Tron managed to be just out of the beast's grasp, although he could feel the hot plasma-tainted breath of the wormware beast that was pursuing him. There were more Programs in the maze, but Tron didn't acknowledge them. He didn't even acknowledge the pixels flying at him from behind as the beast came upon those poor Programs and messily devoured them in one fell swoop. Tron thought he could confuse the creature by making several twists and turns in the maze, but the creature copied his movements as swiftly and gracefully as Tron himself had performed them._

_The wormware beast roared, before hissing, "wwwwwwwwwhhhhhhyyyyyyyy aaarrrrrrrrrreeee yyyyoooooouuuuuu ruuunnnnnninnnninnininininin nnnggggg frfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfooofr frfoooofrfrfrfroofroommmm mmmmeeeeeeeeeeemmeeeeeeemmme eeeemmmffffrrrrrrrrmmmmeeeee eeee?"_

_Tron kept running. He ran until his legs were sore, and then he ran even more. He couldn't stop. He couldn't stop. He couldn't afford to stop. At one point, the creature's jaws were so close that it tore off a few of Tron's hairs. Tron, covered in sticky plasma from the foul thing's breath and spit, only ran faster._

_He ran and ran and ran; the maze seemed endless with its twists and turns. There were no more booby traps, but there was still that infernal laughter. That howling laughter of those who found pleasure in Tron's torment. He couldn't find the source of that laughter, but that was alright with him for the moment; he had bigger problems to worry about._

_"mmmmmmmmmmmmmsysysysysysysys ysysyssmmmmmmmmmmmmsysmmmmm…"_

_Tron felt something push him to the ground from behind. The creature's tongue had lashed out and struck him, leaving him vulnerable to the virus-worm's wrath. Though the plasma made Tron partially stick to the ground, he still managed to crawl out of the way of the great beast. The only problem was getting to his feet so he could flee faster._

_Tron crawled as quickly as he could, dragging his body as he attempted to resist the plasma's sticky effects. The creature, sensing Tron's weakness, continued to drip plasma, weighing down the struggling Program and making him stick even more, eventually to the point where Tron couldn't move at all. Eventually, Tron lay on his belly, flattened by the thick plasma, unable to move at all. He could only turn his head slightly to look up, through the thick, sticky cocoon wall, as the virus-worm's jaws came to envelop him - _


	15. Inferno: V

**V**

"Tron! Tron!"

Alan let out the breath he had been holding when Tron's eyes snapped open. His eyes were bloodshot and his face and hair were soaked with sweat. He was panting heavily, his panicked expression indicating that he was still adjusting to the fact that whatever he had experienced wasn't real. The sounds Tron had made in his sleep, the ones that came from the guest room and told Alan something was wrong… they haunted Alan, and likely always would. Those whimpers, whines, and screams were so full of fear and pain that they were barely human, but more reminiscent of a dying dog. _His _dying dog, Alan remembered, and his heart became even heavier at the memory of that display.

Soon, Tron seemed like he had completely returned to reality. He looked Alan straight in the eye, and immediately Alan knew that this had been more than "just" a bad dream. There was a relief on Tron's face that was almost tearful, as if looking at Alan made him remember that he was still alive.

"Alan One," he breathed, but just as he was about to jump up and embrace Alan, a gentle hand was laid on Tron's shoulder telling him to lay back down.

"You alright?" Alan whispered, kneeling down at the side of the bed in order to be at Tron's level, somewhere it seemed no "User" had been before.

"It was terrible," Tron whispered in reply, the relief and joy vanishing from his face.

"Calm down," Alan cooed, gently laying a hand near Tron's forehead to brush away some stray hairs. "Calm down. It's okay. It's okay. Settle down."

Ignoring Alan's request, Tron suddenly jumped up and threw his arms around his creator. Alan almost fell to the floor from the impact (he was sure Tron thought he was smaller than he actually was), but he managed to hold himself steady, if only because one of them had to do so at the moment.

"I'm glad you came, Alan One," Tron whimpered. "It was horrible." With every phrase, Tron's grip grew tighter, and it was only then that Alan felt the sheer impact of the Warrior's strength. "Wormware… giant, vicious wormware, with long sharp teeth, and… and plasma, so much plasma…" Had he not become overwhelmed with sympathy, Alan would have felt like he was being crushed by how tightly Tron was holding him. "And Flynn, poor Flynn…"

Alan pondered this as he stood up (still with Tron clinging for dear life to him) to sit on the edge of the bed. He drew Tron closer to him, briefly forgetting where he was, who he was with, or even who he himself was, only for this particular moment.

"It's okay," Alan whispered, too overcome by emotion to be burdened by the very heavy helpless creature who had taken refuge in his arms. "It's okay. Don't be scared. Daddy's here. It's okay." Alan, at this moment, was in another time, in another place, and perhaps in another universe. He didn't care where his heart had placed him; he only knew that wherever it was, it was a perfect world. "Daddy's here."

His heart was not troubled by the fact that Lora wasn't there. It wasn't even aching at the fact that he wouldn't see her for another seven months. Alan wasn't fazed by the fact that neither he nor Lora had a family, because now he did. They did, if Lora would accept it. It didn't trouble Alan that Tron was almost as tall as his creator himself, nor was he troubled by the fact that they weighed almost the same (if Tron wasn't a few pounds lighter). This was that moment, one of many that Alan had dreamed about having in a perfect world. It still worried him that Tron was still traumatized by whatever had happened in that arcade, especially to the point where the poor thing couldn't even sleep for more than an hour. However, Alan's world was brightened by the fact that he could be there in his creation's, his _child's_ time of need.

Alan could only imagine how Tron was feeling at this point. At this point, Tron was dependent, helpless – not how he was written to be. It must have been infuriating to have been reduced to lying there, mewling, lost and confused. Not only confused, but terrified as well. Alan wanted to make Tron feel at ease, if only to bring back the latter's dignity.

"I can hear it," Tron whimpered. "I can still hear it. Users, I can still hear it. That sound…" Tron was silent for several moments, before suddenly jumping what Alan swore was two feet in the air.

But Alan held onto his creation tightly, safe and warm.

"Nothing's going to hurt you, Tron," Alan whispered, feeling the troubled creature in his arms tremble from fear that only existed in his own mind. "It's just a dream. You're safe now. I've got you. Daddy's got you." He took a few breaths. "It's over now. You're away from all of that –" Alan didn't understand why Tron seemed to tense at this phrase – "You're home."

Tron shook his head. "No. Not home. I'll never be home."

This gave Alan an idea, although there was something he needed to do first. He slowly let go of Tron before standing up. Disappointed eyes followed him, but Alan reassured, "I'll be right back. I'm going to get something that's hopefully going to help you sleep."

When Tron reluctantly nodded, Alan left the bedroom and headed as quickly as he could to the kitchen. His grand plan didn't consist of simply getting Tron a glass of milk, but whatever would help the poor thing sleep, Alan was willing to do. He held the glass of milk firmly in his hand as he headed back to Tron's room.

He knew nothing about Tron, Alan reflected. All he knew was that Tron was a stranger to this world, and though he was a brave warrior in his own world or realm or dimension or whatever he wanted to call it, he was practically helpless here. Alan wanted to help, not only because it was in his nature to do so, but also because he wanted to _know _Tron, not just from what he had heard from Flynn, but Tron as a person. Alan felt so guilty for not being the one to take Tron by the hand and lead him off the Grid that he wanted to do everything in his power to make sure that everything Flynn managed to screw up (which, from what he had seen, was quite a lot), the Program's true User would fix.

Starting with these nightmares.

"Hey," Alan greeted Tron, who was exactly where Alan had left him. "Told you I'd be back. I got you something." He handed the glass to Tron, who only looked at it curiously. "You drink it," Alan added uncertainly, mentally preparing himself for having to get a spoon.

Surprisingly, though, Tron seemed to understand this command, taking the glass and, after swirling its contents around for a few moments, began to slowly drink. Alan watched with satisfaction as the glass of milk was eventually downed.

"It tastes weird," Tron commented, wiping his mouth.

"It's called 'milk'," Alan explained. "It… It's good for you. It helps you sleep." Pause. Long pause. "Have you eaten?"

"Eaten?" Tron seemed confused.

"You know… food."

A memory seemed to spark in Tron's mind. "Yeah."

"When?"

Pause. "Once."

"Morning, afternoon…?"

Tron seemed confused again. "Before we went to see the 'sun'."

"So morning."

"I guess."

Pause. "What did you have?" Pause. "What did you eat, I mean?"

Tron was silent for a moment, as if trying to remember something, before replying, "A cracker. Nice to have as a snack, but it's not a full meal."

Alan kept this in mind. "How was it?"

"It was good," Tron replied, "until it came back out."

It was Alan's turn to be confused. "What do you mean?"

"It was sort of like a…" Tron paused, before gagging loudly. Alan moved in to settle him down (as it could have been something with the milk), but Tron suddenly stopped, reassuring Alan that it was just a demonstration. "Like that."

Alan understood. "So you got sick?"

"That's one way of putting it, I guess. It was disgusting."

"And you haven't had anything else?"

"No."

"Nothing else, all day?"

"I don't think so."

Alan sighed. Flynn was starting a family, and yet he was still careless enough to let Tron starve for most of the day. He was sure they were both too tired, or Alan would have immediately made dinner for Tron (and something for himself as well, since now he was hungry).

"We'll worry about that in the morning. Hopefully that milk will last you through the night." Right now, however, was time for something that both he and Tron would hopefully benefit from. Alan sat back down on the edge of the bed, taking the empty glass from Tron and setting it on the floor beside him. "Right now… I want you to do something for me."

Tron perked. "Anything, Alan One."

Alan reached over to wipe off Tron's mouth, before continuing, "I want to hear your story."

Tron seemed oddly confused by this. "My story?"

"You must have one," Alan explained. "Everyone has a story."

Tron didn't seem to know what to do. Eventually, though, he recited, "Reports on System scans and security checks have come up negative, no sign of threats, and this has been the case for the past ten cycles. Sector 204 was recently under attack by a massive Gridbug infection, but that issue was dealt with accordingly."

Alan frowned as he attempted to comprehend the Security Program babble, before stating, "That's not exactly what I meant."

Tron blinked. "Do you want archives from the past fifty cycles instead?"

Alan shook his head. "No, Tron. I don't want a status report."

Tron seemed appalled. He opened his mouth a few times to speak, but he apparently thought better of it every time. Eventually, though, he admitted, "I don't understand what you're asking me, Alan One."

Alan was about to give up, when he suddenly had another idea. He took a deep breath, before stating, "Tell me about 'home'."

"The ENCOM System?"

"Yes," Alan replied. "Your story begins there, doesn't it?" When Tron hesitated, Alan sighed and asked, "No one's ever asked you for your story before, have they?"

Tron shook his head.

"That's a shame. You must have an interesting one." Alan gave Tron a warm, gentle smile that told him to begin.

"The ENCOM System was very beautiful," Tron explained. "Lots of color and full of light."

"Like here?"

Tron shook his head. "It didn't have trees or plants or a 'sun'. There were cities, but there were also massive canyons, caves, and cliffs, many of which provided a fantastic view."

"If it doesn't have a sun, how does it get light?" Alan asked.

"Everything has its own light," Tron explained. "Circuitry. Everything has its own circuitry, and that makes everything glow. How brightly it glows depends on how much Energy it has."

"Energy?"

"It looks kind of like 'water'," Tron replied, "but I remember it tasting wonderful."

"So you drink it," Alan piped up, gradually beginning to understand.

"Yeah."

"Was that the only thing…?"

"Yeah. We didn't have anything else."

Alan paused for a moment, attempting to process all of this. "Now, when you say that everything had circuitry, do you mean _everything_?"

Tron nodded. "The Programs, too. Kind of like User-Circuitry, except Programs had theirs on the outside." Tron pointed to some of the veins in his arm.

Alan felt it was time to change the subject (as he was unnerved by the thought of veins and arteries throbbing on top of the skin instead of hidden underneath). "What did you do in the System?"

"Followed your orders, mainly." Tron replied proudly.

When he saw that Tron had no other answer, Alan sighed. Maybe that was a bad question. He rephrased it, "Did you have any friends?"

"A lot, especially after the rebellion and the defeat of the MCP," Tron explained. "Programs knew me, because… I fought in that rebellion. I still believed, even when the MCP had taken over the entire System. They called me… the 'User Champion'."

Alan smiled; he couldn't have been more proud.

Tron went on to explain the rebellion, the capture, and eventually being freed by whom he would come to know as Flynn. They had met, become friends, and together defeated the MCP with someone named Dumont and a name that Tron constantly repeated, as though this person had a lot more personal significance to him than simply his "friend".

"The best thing about being free from the MCP was… seeing Yori again, after so long." Tron sank into the bed, suddenly drooping like a neglected plant.

"Yori?"

Tron nodded. "She was my best friend, even more than Flynn. I loved to spend time with her whenever I could. She was very nice and very smart – smarter than me – and… she made me smile. She always made me feel like I was worth something. Just the thought of her… makes me young again." Whether Tron knew it or not, Alan noticed that tears were beginning to form in Tron's eyes that weren't from any kind of traumatizing arcade experience. "I loved her, Alan One."

Alan's heart grew heavy. "What happened to her?"

Tron hesitated for several moments, before admitting, "I haven't told this to anyone."

"It's okay," Alan replied. "I won't say anything."

Tron took a deep breath, before stating, "When Flynn pulled me from the ENCOM System to the Grid, I… I was separated from her. A copy of me remained behind like nothing happened. But I never saw her again. I… I barely remember what she looks like."

Alan sighed. So Flynn was responsible for more than he had thought. Alan wondered if Flynn knew anything about the hardships that his 'friend' had gone through since he had intervened with Tron's previously peaceful life.

"The Grid was nothing like the ENCOM System," Tron continued. "The Grid was dark. Very dark. There's barely any color there."

"All that excitement over a dark wasteland?" Alan mused.

"Flynn said he was going to make it the perfect world," Tron explained. "He was very excited about it, and he said he sent me over to help maintain it."

"I see." Alan didn't know what to make of this tale, as it all seemed very strange to him. However, he felt as though the more time he spent with Tron, the more he would understand this strange world from where his creation had come. "Did he make it the perfect world?"

"Last I checked, he's still trying. He made CLU so he had help while he was gone."

"And CLU is…?"

"Flynn's Program," Tron replied. "Well, they're all Flynn's Programs except for me, but… Flynn made CLU special. He gave him… extra upgrades or something." Tron shivered. "There was always something… off about CLU. I could never put my finger on what it was, but he always seemed to be angry. At Flynn. For always being gone."

"Gone?"

"Every once in a while, Flynn would leave the Grid for a very long time, but he'd always come back several cycles later, only to leave again a short time afterward. He left CLU and me in charge."

Alan nodded. "Did you ever tell Flynn about your suspicions?"

Tron shook his head. "He wouldn't have believed me. I tried to tell him, but he always ignored me. CLU was his pride and joy. CLU could do no wrong."

Alan made a soft "hmm" sound, before adding, "I see. So how did you get here?"

Tron reflected on that for a moment. "Several millicycles ago—" Alan made a mental note to ask Tron about this 'cycle'–'millicycle' business. "— Flynn took me to the Portal, saying that he had a surprise for me."

"What's the 'Portal'?" Alan asked. Now it was sounding like Tron came straight from a science fiction novel that Alan may or may not have been interested in reading.

"It's a… Well, it's the gateway to the World of the Users. Flynn uses it to leave the Grid and return to his own World. This one." Tron took a moment to breathe, before continuing, "He let me come with him this time." Alan smiled as Tron continued, finally escaping from that somber tone of his, "It was exciting. There were lots of things to see, and lots of things to learn about, and… seeing the 'sun' for the first time was wonderful, and… meeting you."

Alan could barely comprehend the fact that he was the central being in Tron's very existence, the one Tron's reverence and pleas went to, even though they had been separated for so long (and Flynn didn't exactly help with that much, for that matter). Seeing those sparkling eyes of awe, that changed him. It all went back to wishing he had a family like Flynn had. There was no other way he could ever imagine having someone there in front of him who wouldn't have even existed without him.

But now was the central question, the one Alan immediately had second thoughts about bringing up so soon. "What happened at the arcade?"

Tron closed his eyes for a moment, before his teeth began to chatter. "Flynn… he left me there. He abandoned me, so that I could see what the Users were doing… doing to the Programs."

"Derezzing?" Alan asked.

Tron nodded, his eyes still closed. "Hundreds of them… Thousands. Maybe even millions. Suffering. Suffering at the hands of their masters. Created only to be destroyed. No real purpose, just… malice. Evil… Evil things. Evil creatures. I… If I would have only known…" Tron shook his head. "I don't want to know anymore, Alan One. I want to forget. I want my friend and my home back like none of this ever happened. I… this horrible, horrible place…" Tron quivered. "But… that tower… that tower-box…"

"What tower-box?" Alan piped up, frowning.

"The biggest one… the one at the very far end, I remember it clearly… It was a sign, a sign that I was going to suffer at the hands of the Users as well. That I was _next._"

"What did it say?" Alan asked, uncertainty in his voice.

Tron's face turned so pale that Alan swore he was looking at a ghost of himself.

"It said my name," Tron whispered, barely as a breath.

Flynn. God save your soul.

Alan sighed. "Was that when you started having these nightmares?"

Tron hesitated for a moment, before nodding.

"These… strange visions… is that what they're called?"

Alan nodded. "They're not real. None of this is actually going to happen to you. It's just inside your head, Tron. You're just scared."

"But… Flynn—"

"Flynn's not here, Tron. He's not going to do anything to you."

Tron didn't seem to be convinced. Alan sighed.

"Look, I don't know what's going to help you sleep, but I don't like seeing you… suffer like that. I don't want you to keep having these nightmares."

Tron frowned. "So I should just stop having them?"

Alan sighed and shook his head. "It's not that easy, as much as we both would like for it to be." He paused for a moment, before suddenly getting an idea. Alan adjusted his glasses, before adding, "Think about home."

"Home?"

"Home. Not my home, your home. Think about finally having a chance to go back to the ENCOM System. Think about seeing Yori again. No matter how far away you are, you can always go back in your dreams. That's the nice thing about being human, Tron. You can have nightmares, but you can also have dreams." Alan smiled, and Tron looked at him with as loving of eyes as any child could give.

"Do you really mean it?" Tron asked softly.

Alan smiled and nodded. "As sure as I'll ever be of anything. Now," he added, ruffling Tron's hair, "User command! Get some sleep. Should you succeed, I'll see you in the morning."

Tron smiled at Alan as he left, and though Alan turned out the lights once again, he left the door open just a crack, just in case anything else happened.

As soon as Alan looked back and saw the figure in the bed stir, he felt in his heart that this wasn't just the start of an accidental yet definitely interesting experiment; this was the start of the rest of his life.

"Sweet dreams, User Champion."

* * *

Tron closed his eyes, but he didn't let the nightmares come back. He focused, and focused hard, on the thoughts that Alan One told him to have. He tried his hardest not to remember the vicious video games of the World of the Users, but to recall cycles long ago of colorful plateaus, the twinkle of sparks in the circuitry racing along the ground, and the open skies where the I/O beams reached up and greeted the stars. Tron focused on remembering home; he remembered every single little detail that his discless memory could process, right down to which cliffs provided the best views of the Sea and the decorative patterns of the I/O chambers. These memories made him calmer, more serene, and for the first time since that incident at the 'Arcade', Tron truly felt at peace. He thought of Yori and, when he focused enough in his tranquil state, he found that what the Users called his "mind's eye" could see more of her than he had previously thought, almost to the point where it was like they had seen each other just last millicycle.

Suddenly, Tron no longer had to remember, but he dreamed. He dreamed of her hair, the way it swayed with her body as she glided around their glorious home, so vibrant and full of life. He dreamed of the luminosity of her eyes, how they glowed when she saw him, and how they twinkled when she was happy, excited, or whenever he told her he never wanted to leave her, ever. He also dreamed of a sea of green, tall towers of green that reached out into the skies. He dreamed of never having to be alone in this place, of being there with the one he _loved_.

Monsters tried to come in – he could feel them – but those dreams of somewhere green gave Tron the courage to overcome them, if only temporarily. Those fond memories and sweet blessings were enough to carry the weary guest through the time of darkness, even to beyond when the sun would show again.


	16. Inferno: VI

**VI**

Tron didn't realize how much time had passed until he opened his eyes again.

The room wasn't dark anymore, even with Alan One no longer present. Now that he felt like he had more Energy (or whatever the User equivalent for that was), Tron found himself able to think more clearly and rationally.

_I survived, _he thought, starting to sit up and attempting to get a better look at the room. _I'm still here, in one piece._

Leaning back against what was apparently the "wall" of the bed behind him, Tron let out a victorious sigh and reflected about all that had happened. How long had it been since he came? Several millicycles, he was positive. Did any Programs on the Grid miss him yet? Despite the fact that he had been hasty in stating he never wanted to go back, Tron found himself slightly homesick already, especially since he turned toward the door and expected another Security Program to come in, reprimanding him for resting when there was so much work to be done...

Tron shook his head. There were no Security Programs in the World of the Users, and if there were, Tron was no longer one of them. He didn't know the strange World around him well enough yet to be able to patrol it and protect it from its dangers - he didn't even know if it NEEDED protecting! If it did, would Tron be able to protect it? Did his previous functions carry over into the World of the Users with him? Or did he have to find an entirely new function, now that he was 'hu-man'?

That was something to ask Alan One.

After some struggle ('Bed' really insisted on keeping him warm and secure!), Tron finally managed to stand up and head toward the door. Was Alan One even there? A few millicycles ago, Flynn had mentioned something about Alan One having to leave for a while. Hopefully, Tron had not been too late in seeing him before he left.

He fumbled with the User door for a long time (it didn't derezz and rerezz like he was used to seeing, and trying to make it derezz only resulted in him getting hurt) before remembering how Alan One operated it. Apparently, there was some sort of wheel he had to grab and turn. User things were weird.

While he was searching for Alan One, Tron knew full well that if he was found in a place where he wasn't supposed to be, then he would definitely be in trouble. However... he didn't care? He absolutely cared, but some strange User-type instinct thought that he was overreacting to the possibility of finding a forbidden sector. After all, he could have always said he was looking for his User. Not to mention he wouldn't have been disobeying if there was no command in the first pla-

Wait, he was _considering _trouble?!

This World had a stronger impact on him than he thought.

"Alan One?" Tron called out, peeking into any room he could find (which gave him much needed practice with User doors) to see if his User was hiding anywhere in the 'house'. "Alan One?"

There was no sign of the User anywhere. Tron began to become worried.

"Alan One?" Tron called louder, before catching a glimpse of someone out of the corner of his eye. "Alan One?"

Tron tried to go back to find that User he had spotted, when he suddenly came face-to-face with a User, assumed to be the same one from before. This User was dressed in all white, except for his bare, skin-covered hands and feet. His short brown hair was slightly unruly, as if it had been ruffled one time too many. Tron approached the User to get a closer look; apparently, the User was also curious, as Tron found himself being approached as well. Both seemed to analyze each other. Though the User looked slightly like Alan One, Tron didn't recognize the strange User. Did Alan One know about this User being here? Was this User an intruder? Tron instinctively reached to his back to grab his Disc (only to realize, with a sinking feeling, that he no longer had a Disc), but he saw that the User was trying to do the same thing. A User who thought he was a Program? How silly! Suddenly curious about the strange User, Tron approached him further, until they were mere inches from each other. He reached out - only to see that the User did the same -, only to feel a smooth, heat-draining wall.

"How is this possible?" he mused. The Grid had soft surfaces like this, but they almost never produced these kinds of effects. Or maybe some did on the Grid and Tron hadn't recognized the improved and more colorful quality of the Users' adaptation. "Maybe it's an illusion. An enigma, even? Or just a glitch in coding?"

Or was that really him, now that Tron looked down and saw that he was wearing white, and his hands and feet were bare? He looked up again; was that really him? Where was his circuitry, his armor? Tron kept having to remind himself that this World didn't quite work that way. He _looked _like a User. This was a fact that had startled him from the first moment he realized it. No one would have been able to tell he was (or had been) actually a Program. Tron wasn't sure whether this would turn out to be a good or bad thing.

All the more reason to try and find Alan One. With a newfound determination, Tron searched the 'house' once again. There was still no sign of him, although the only thing out of the ordinary that Tron encountered was a small white slip with some User-script on it. He tried to see if it had any significance, but as he could not decipher the scribblings, Tron discarded the slip. Maybe Alan One would explain it later.

Once Tron confirmed that Alan One was nowhere to be seen, he plopped down on the large, soft seat that Alan One had called the 'couch'. Looking up at the strange User clock on the wall, Tron attempted to figure out what to do next. What _could _he do? There were no Users around to give him commands, and there were no ongoing requests and regular scans in the World of the Users that he could do - at least, not to his knowledge. He couldn't exactly try to do something on his own, simply because he didn't know the World around him enough to know what was safe and what to leave alone, and also because... Tron was seldom used to doing things that didn't require a prior command. So he could only wait to be given a command by a User who wasn't there.

He looked up at the clock, trying to figure out its hidden secrets. What did these numbers stand for? Did it mean something when one of the pointers was in a specific place? Tron never took his eyes off the strange object. After a long time of watching, he finally managed to figure out a pattern. For every several times the long, skinny pointer made a revolution, the long, thick pointer would twitch in the same direction ever so slightly. When the long, thick pointer moved so much, the short, thicker pointer twitched even more subtly. With every revolution the long, thick pointer made, the short, thicker pointer moved from number to number, and Tron barely noticed the movements until another revolution was made. Tron watched as the short, thicker pointer slowly moved from the nine to the ten, and then to the eleven, and then to the twelve, and then for some reason to the one, and finally to the two before Tron's ears perked; he heard someone coming in.

"Tron?" called out a familiar voice.

"Alan One!" he called back, and his User eventually found him.

"Hey," Alan One greeted, sitting down next to Tron. "Did you miss me? What have you been doin', huh?"

Full of pride, Tron answered, "Waiting for you."

Alan One didn't seem to understand.

"No, I meant what did you _do_?" he asked, his warm smile melting into a frown.

Tron wasn't sure how to answer this. "... I waited for you to come back," he repeated.

Alan One sighed. "So you just waited."

"Yes."

"When did you wake up?" Tron thought Alan One was changing the subject.

Tron thought about this for a moment. What had the clock looked like when he first went out? "That shorter pointer was closer to the nine than it was to the eight. The one that's on the two now."

Alan One seemed perplexed, but Tron didn't know why. "So you sat in that very spot and did absolutely nothing for five hours?"

Tron didn't know what to think of Alan One's sudden outburst. "... Yeah. Does this displease you?" he asked timidly.

Alan One hesitated for a moment, before groaning softly and pinching the bridge of his nose (Tron didn't know whether that meant 'yes' or 'no'). After a few moments, he finally stated, "I left a note for you in the kitchen. Did you see it?"

Tron didn't know what Alan One had meant by 'note'; he shook his head.

"Figures," Alan One muttered, before standing up and walking toward another room. "Come on."

Tron followed, his legs stiff from having stayed in one place for so long.

"Are you mad at me?" Tron insisted. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no, you didn't. I just-"

"I was only waiting for a command from you or someone. I thought you would be angry if I acted without a command, so-"

"Tron," Alan One interrupted, and Tron shut up. "It's okay. We'll get this worked out."

Alan One knelt down on the ground and picked up the white slip that Tron had discarded earlier. He showed it to Tron, before saying, "It was right here on the table. Did you see it?"

Tron paused, a guilty expression beginning to form on his face. "Yes."

"Did you see what it said?" Alan One's tone was beginning to become less harsh, but that didn't stop Tron from becoming worried at his User's question.

"I... Well..."

"Did you?"

So those User scribbles were actually important? Tron paled; if he couldn't decipher the script, he had completely disobeyed a command he didn't know he had! Bad Program, very bad Program... Tron had never found himself in this kind of situation before.

"I would have," Tron slowly answered, bracing himself for his User's unpredictable reaction to Tron's having been very, very disobedient, "if I... well, if I... knew... what it said." Tron forced himself to be honest.

However, Alan One didn't condemn him like Tron thought he would. Instead, Alan One only sighed and sat down at the table, burying his face in his hands. Tron was about to go and comfort him when Alan One suddenly spoke.

"You can't read, can you?" he asked, unable to keep a little bit of irritation from seeping into his voice. He looked up at Tron, who shied away. "That's why you didn't get my directions?"

At that moment, Tron wanted to curl up into a ball the size of a Bit. "Yes," he admitted.

Alan One sighed again and muttered, "And I can't blame my handwriting this time..." He then spoke up, "Do you want to hear what it said?"

Tron nodded.

Alan One cleared his throat and, holding the small slip, began, "'Tron, sorry I had to leave so soon. I've been very busy at work lately, and I can't afford to take any days off. I'm not sure what you like to eat yet, so I left some snacks around in case you get hungry. I'll stop by around 2:00 to check on you, and maybe I'll get you some lunch. After that, I'm probably not going to be home until 11:00 or so, so find something to do until then. See you later - Alan.'"

Tron wanted to curl up even tighter now. Such obvious details so easily overlooked! "I'm sorry," Tron piped up, not knowing exactly what to say to such humiliation. "I'll try harder next time?"

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Alan One insisted. "You didn't know, and I didn't know that you didn't know. I should be sorry." He stood up again. "But we should definitely work on that if you're planning on staying," he added. "In the meantime, why don't you sit down? I may as well make some lunch."

* * *

"I know Flynn told you this wasn't considered a full meal, but it's going to have to do for now."

Tron watched in fascination as Alan One took out some of those things called 'crackers' (strange name!) and added a strip of something called 'cheese' (even stranger name!) to them.

"Now," Alan One stated firmly, turning to Tron after he had prepared the small 'meal', "these should last you until I get home. If you're still hungry, you saw how I made these and where I got the stuff." Tron nodded, and that gave Alan One the signal to continue. "I'd teach you how to make more stuff, but I have to leave in five minutes. Remember," Alan One added, handing Tron the plate, "if you get sick, take one of these mints I put on the side there and lay down until you feel better. You know where the bathroom is?"

"I think so."

"Good. Anything else?"

Tron paused. "Do you have any commands for me between now and... eleven?"

Alan One took a few moments to think. "You can look through the books on the shelf, see if there's anything interesting, maybe with some pictures? Maybe take a nap if you get tired, maybe even turn on the TV for a while, see if there's anything good... Do you like to draw, maybe? I'll put some pencils and paper on the coffee table in case you want to try it?" Alan One received a vague expression in return. "No? Hmmm... Well, as long as I know you ate and you're not sick, I guess my 'command' is that you can do whatever you want for the rest of day. Just relax until I get home."

"What... ever I want?" This concept was inconceivable, counterproductive to the greater good of the System!

Alan One nodded, but then a thoughtful gleam entered his eyes. Seeming to sense something he hadn't seen before, Alan One chose to elaborate.

"My command is that you no longer receive commands," he added with a smirk. "You, my friend, have a mind of your own. Your own thoughts, your own ideas, your own hopes and dreams. Otherwise, you probably wouldn't have agreed to leave your System." He had a point. "Your reaction to the Arcade, your decision not to go back to the Grid... that's something called 'free will'. You are, for example, allowed to tell me I'm wrong even if I think I'm right. It's based on what you personally believe."

Tron frowned. "Then I believe it's wrong to think that way. It's disrespectful."

Alan One only chuckled. "Think about it for a while."

* * *

Tron sat and stared at the 'gifts' Alan One had given him. 'Pencil and paper', he called them. He had told Tron that one could create many things with simply these two materials. He wanted to see what Tron could create. But Tron was hesitant to create; he stared at the materials, as if daring one of them to move.

Alan One had given him the command to 'create'. On some of the papers, he had even demonstrated the concept; he had made several small "drawings" already, pictures unlike anything Tron had ever seen before.

And Alan One wanted him to create.

Programs were not supposed to create. They were supposed to process, seek, serve, perform actions that would please and benefit their Users. This belief had carried over into the Grid, and despite the lackadaisical nature of some of the Grid's Programs, it was almost taboo to create as the Users had. Programs were not allowed to invent, but use what they were given in order to perform their duties. To create would put Programs in the role of Users, and that in itself was disrespectful, especially given Tron's ENCOM System background.

Tron reached out and picked up one of the 'pencils', but he did nothing more with it. Absurd as the concept was, Tron took several long moments to think about what Alan One had told him about 'free will'. Already, in the decisions he had made, Tron had proven himself to be an individual, defying the limitations of the average Program. Did this mean he wasn't a Program anymore? He wasn't, in the eyes of Alan One, which left Tron perturbed and appalled. Did Alan One no longer accept him as his loyal and loving servant?

Yes, a part of him said, but in lieu of a servant, Alan One gained a friend.

Tron's thoughts returned to Flynn. Flynn, who before the Grid had been only an enigma. Flynn, who was the first User to see Tron as a friend, and not just as a servant. What had Flynn told him that fateful millicycle when Tron had first been introduced to the Grid?

_"You're only useful when you can do things other than what you were meant to do._"

This statement had made him agree to travel to the World of the Users. It wasn't by force or any other sort of command. But this concept was also something to reflect; was that what being a User was? Not having a single thing to do, but being 'useful' and able to perform many functions at once? Both Flynn and Alan One were challenging him to do this very thing. They saw Tron as more than a Program (if it was ever possible for a Program to be considered this way!), and they were inviting Tron not to be a Program among Users, but a _User _among Users.

But the Arcade... Tron did not want to be savage like the Users.

No, he did not have to be savage. Alan One had said it was all about what Tron believed.

Tron believed he would embrace the beauty of the World of the Users, and frown upon all of its horrors.

So was he useful? No, not yet, because he still thought like a Program. Why think like a Program when he knew all too well that he would never be a Program again? He still respected his background and origins, but Tron's being 'hu-man' made him see that for as long as he could remember, he had been enclosed in a tiny cell, much like the cell that had been his home for most of his sentence in the Game Grid. He was in a tiny little cell, with walls separating him from the World.

He had to break free of that cell. It was his final command.

So, with this in mind, he held the 'pencil' in hand

and drew.


	17. Inferno: VII

**VII**

****Although Tron was (and he was able to admit this himself) a slow learner, Alan couldn't help but to admire the will to learn and keep trying that Tron had developed. At first, Alan observed, he was reluctant; he still wanted to act like a Program, whatever a Program acted like. The only way to appease him was to teach him how to do chores: wash the dishes, clean the floors once a week (although Tron had insisted on twice), make the beds, and dust the house (which, for some reason, seemed to be Tron's favorite activity). Of course, Alan had to admit, this was a good way to keep Tron occupied, but he didn't want to see Tron as his servant, as Tron wanted his creator to see him. He was positive that Flynn didn't send Tron up to the real world to be his personal slave, so why should Tron act like that had been Flynn's intentions?

Maybe that was Program nature. Maybe they existed only to serve, and to not be served themselves. Alan didn't want that kind of life for Tron. Not anymore.

Sometimes, when Alan came home, there were papers all over the living room floor, all of them with at least one kind of scribbling on it. With a smirk, Alan always knew the source of the mess; Alan would always find Tron on the living room floor, sitting cross-legged, attempting to draw something else. When he didn't get it right, the work-in-progress drawing would usually end up on the floor, and Tron would start from the beginning on a new sheet. Alan would always smile to himself when this happened; with the way Tron usually behaved, it was nice to be able to do some housework _himself _for a change.

Sensing that Tron had found a hobby he liked, Alan went out of his way to buy a coloring book and some crayons. He figured Tron would get bored with only using the pencil, so Alan also took some time to explain what Tron didn't know about the colors (which only was, apparently, the fact that the colors actually had _names_). Alan had explained that Tron didn't need to draw anything in the book, but he needed to add color to the pictures that were already there. However, Alan also noted that Tron could use these pictures as future inspiration in case he ran out of things to draw (which, judging by the nature of his creation's other 'pieces of art', wasn't about to happen anytime soon).

Though Tron seemed to be happy most of the time, Alan could tell that he hadn't fully recovered from the "arcade incident". He visibly cringed at merely the phrase "video games". He became jumpy when Alan had the radio on. Anytime rock music was playing (or just loud music in general), Tron would always lock himself in his room. He avoided the television like the plague, and he became unbearably afraid of the dark. A scowl would come to his formerly content face whenever Alan mentioned Flynn, and under no circumstances would Tron ever come within a five-foot radius of Alan's computer. Tron would tense every time the phone rang, the microwave would beep, and the toaster would pop up.

No matter what Alan did, Tron still had those nightmares every once in a while, the ones that made Alan wonder why Tron still even attempted to be remotely cheerful in the morning.

_Time heals all wounds_, Alan figured, having no idea what else to do in order to help Tron. The best he could do was to keep Tron happy during the day, when the nightmares didn't bother him.

However, work was getting busier and busier; Alan had less and less time to check on Tron and to take care of him. He only hoped that Tron learned how to take care of himself quickly (and hopefully stop trying to brush his teeth with soap), or else they would have to work something out, perhaps draw a conclusion that Alan would be as reluctant to make as Tron would be to accept.

The decision was set almost exactly two weeks after Tron had arrived. Alan had once again used his lunch break to check on Tron, only to see that Tron was missing.

He first sensed something was wrong when there was no one running up to greet him at the door. Usually, whenever Alan even opened the door, Tron was determined to be the first one to see him, even though there was no one else in the house. The only time this didn't happen was when Tron was absorbed in his drawing or coloring, but there were no papers on the floor. It was almost as if Tron had cleaned the floor and then...

... left?

Alan looked all over the house, but there was no sign of Tron anywhere. Had he left? Alan had been so concerned about getting Tron to adapt to human life that he hadn't even considered the possibility of Tron _going out_. It hadn't even crossed his mind that this could have been dangerous. None of his neighbors were aware that there were two almost identical Alan Bradleys in the house. Depending on what Tron said or did or where he was... people would start to ask questions, and Tron would eventually... no, that wouldn't be good.

"Tron?" Alan called out, knocking on the door of the guest bedroom to see if by some miracle Tron would be inside. "Tron, are you there?"

No answer. Alan began to get worried. He opened the door to see that the bedroom was empty.

Oh, God...

Alan searched the house several more times before deciding to check outside. He never knew Tron as one to suddenly run away, maybe accidentally get kidnapped...

There was no one in the front yard. His neighbor across the street, seeing Alan, waved to him, and Alan waved back, but that wasn't his biggest concern at the moment. Walking quickly to the back of the house, Alan let out the breath he had been holding for the past twenty minutes when he saw a figure lounging on the grass with his pad and pencil. Alan approached the figure to confirm it was Tron, and a sudden noise made the latter look up and behind him.

"Oh," the voice so similar to Alan's own greeted him. "Hello, Alan One. I was just looking at this little worm here." Tron picked up the caterpillar he had been studying with two fingers and held it up to show Alan. "Smallest worm I've ever seen. And he's harmless, too. And kind of cute, don't you think?" The innocent smile then disappeared from Tron's face. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"N-"

"I did something bad, didn't I?" Tron continued. "I knew I should have asked permission first. I was bad. I should be punished. You should punish me, Alan One."

"I'm not going to p-"

"I should be scolded, as I disobeyed a command."

"You weren't even..." Alan trailed off, before sighing, "Come inside. You can even bring your... ah... your little friend with you."

Carrying his pad and pencil and letting the caterpillar crawl along his arm, Tron followed Alan inside. Tron followed Alan into the place he had learned to identify as "his room". Tron sat on "his bed" while Alan closed the door.

"Be careful not to squish him," Alan noted as he walked back to the bed and noticed that Tron was fascinated with the tiny critter in his hand. "He's very fragile."

Tron nodded and seemed to take note of this; he became noticeably gentler with the caterpillar.

"We need to talk," Alan finally said after several moments of silence.

Tron looked up, and his shift of attention made the caterpillar fall onto the bed, although it still crawled around, blissfully exploring its surroundings. "Was it because I was outside?"

Alan sighed. "Well... yes. And no. Mostly no."

"I didn't mean to disobey," Tron admitted. "It's just that I-"

"- was sick of being cooped up in here for so long," Alan finished. "I understand, and I'm sorry for making you do that."

Tron sighed, before muttering guiltily, "I wanted to go to the park again."

Alan gave his creation a soft smile. "We can go tomorrow. I think I can get the day off, now that Flynn's small 'vacation' is over." The time Flynn planned to spend with Tron, Alan added to himself, if all of his plans hadn't gone so awry.

Tron's eyes widened. "Really?"

Alan nodded. "You deserve it."

The smile that appeared on Tron's face made Alan deeply regret the news he had to give.

"Tron," Alan suddenly stated, watching the enthusiastic smile vanish from Tron's face as quickly as it had come. "I can't take care of you forever."

Tron looked absolutely heartbroken.

"Why?" he asked.

Alan sighed. "I've just... been so busy lately. I can't spend any time with you. I have to be back at ENCOM in ten minutes, for example. I just feel so bad that you spend so much time alone during the day... and I can tell you've wanted to go out for so long... I'm sorry I couldn't take you before. I just want what's best for you, and I'm afraid that I'm not the one who can give it to you."

Alan couldn't bear to look at Tron.

"So you mean... I have to... live on my own?" Tron asked, and he was about to add another comment when Alan interrupted him.

"No, no, that's not what I said at all," Alan replied, taking off his glasses and polishing them on his coat as to not be able to clearly see Tron's expression. "I'm saying that there's someone who can take better care of you than I can. Someone who knows you better than I do."

It took a moment, but Tron finally realized who Alan was talking about. "No. Not him," Tron interjected coldly.

"I wish there was another way," Alan commented, "but think of the alternative: you would have to be cooped up in here forever, with nothing to do but work on your coloring books and play with that frisbee you always carry around... Flynn intended for you to see the World, and that's what I want you to do, too. And I don't want to just let you go, because we both know you don't have enough experience to take care of yourself."

"But I don't want to go back to Flynn!" Tron interjected. "I told you what he did. I want to stay with you!"

"I talked to Flynn last night after you went to bed. He's willing to apologize for everything he did. Not to mention he could use some help around his-"

"I thought it was about what _I _wanted - what _I _believed," Tron whined, which made Alan cringe, hearing this tone in his own voice. "And I don't want to go back to Flynn. Why can't I stay here and take care of myself? I can learn! You said yourself I was making progress! If I keep making progress, then maybe I won't be cooped up in here anymore, and I can go to the park again." By then, the little caterpillar was forgotten, now attempting to climb up and over the bedpost.

"It's not that easy," Alan blurted out, putting his glasses back on. "While I don't doubt you can take care of yourself eventually, you can't just put yourself into society as... yourself."

Tron's small tantrum ended abruptly. "What do you mean?"

Alan's heart sank; he knew he had to tell Tron about this eventually. "There's a reason I didn't let you go outside sooner. I wanted to protect you."

Pause. "From what?"

Alan hesitated, before finally looking Tron straight in the eye. "There are... Users... out there, Tron. Very bad Users. If they know you're not hu... not from here... horrible things are going to happen. To you."

"To... me?" Tron asked, now fully sobered from earlier.

Alan nodded. "They don't like... people who aren't like us. Us as in... you know..." Alan was about to finish, but he thought better of it and continued instead, "In our World... you're one of a kind, and for once, I don't mean that in a good way."

Tron, though his face was full of despair, had the courage to ask, "What would they do?"

Tron's face was full of that same inhuman level of pain as when Alan had first noticed the full extent of Tron's arcade trauma. Alan felt like he was slowly killing his Program with every word he said.

But these were words that needed to be said.

"First, they would take you." Alan himself died with every word he said; he didn't feel Tron was ready to know this, but Alan also knew that Tron would never _be _ready. "They would take you from us. From me. From the sun. From the park. From the world." Out of the corner of his eye, Alan spotted the little caterpillar starting to inch down the bedpost. He stood up and approached it, before yanking it off its path with two fingers. Tron watched as the little bug squirmed and writhed, but Alan seemed to ignore this. "Someone as special as you, they would want to keep for themselves. You would belong to them, just as you used to 'belong' to me. They would claim you as their own." With the helpless bug in hand, Alan walked back over to the bed, where he dropped the caterpillar in an empty glass on the nightstand, which had been left over from a drink of water from the previous night. The caterpillar landed on its back, and it took a few minutes for it to roll right-side-up again. "And they'll keep you in there, forever and ever." Alan turned the glass over so that the caterpillar was now on the table, but the glass made a tall, narrow dome around it. Tron watched the bug crawl around in its tiny prison and make fruitless attempts to escape.

"And that's... going to be me?" Tron asked, unable to take his eyes off the imprisoned caterpillar.

"If we're not careful," Alan replied. "I didn't want to tell you this, especially so soon after... that incident, but... you have the right to know what could happen to you."

Tron took several moments to think about what Alan had said, before asking, "And I'll just be trapped in there until I dere... die?"

Alan shook his head sadly. "If I know the way they'll react to you... be thankful if you even die in one piece." Noticing Tron's sad eyes, Alan added, "But that's only going to happen if you remain as Tron, Warrior of the Grid. I know you're not going to like this - I'm not even going to like this - but it's our only option. It's the only way for you to make the most out of the time you have... without losing it."

"I understand," came Tron's somber reply.

"I don't want to have to keep hiding you forever," Alan added. "You deserve better than that."

Tron gave a slow nod. "I do." His eyes were still affixed to the caterpillar and its prison, and Alan could tell that all of Tron's instincts were screaming to free the poor creature.

"I have to go back to work," Alan slowly stated. "I'll see you tonight."

Alan quietly left, and Tron didn't seem to notice him leave. He would write a profile for Tron that night and put it on a tape so that Tron could learn it; Tron still didn't know how to read. Tron could take as much time as he needed to learn his profile. Alan knew Tron was in no hurry to go back to Flynn, nor was he in any hurry to completely forget everything about himself and take on the role of a character Alan had completely made up.

Even though it was what was best for Tron, Alan couldn't blame him.

* * *

_"Alan One! Alan One!"_

_They would strip him completely naked; Creatures were not granted the leisure of modesty._

_"Alan One!"_

_He could squirm and writhe and kick and fight all he pleased; no Warrior, ancient or futuristic, could ever stand up to the arsenal of modern science._

_"Alan O-!"_

_Thump._

_They would take him far away. Far away from home, where he would never see the light of day again. Oh, brave new world of science, of slicing and stitching and torture. Of confinement and claustrophobia, of never leaving his cozy little cage for hours at a time. Of screaming and crying and apathetic bystanders, only present to oggle at the Thing, the Creature, the Alien, with his lack of a belly-button and those strange birthmarks all over his body. And among those ogglers would be Alan, having bought his way into the lab in order to lull his creature to sleep during that ungodly hour when he could finally rest, to dry his tears and to let him know that someone was still there for him. Those painful stitches on his arms and belly... Alan would try to make them better, but he couldn't make them go away. Alan would try to keep his Creature warm on those long, freezing nights of being an Animal. He would show his Creature how to eat what food he had been given, in order to not starve. Though bars of thin wire and intense security separated them, their bond would never be completely severed._

_One night, Alan would be running late, and when he would finally be able to see his Creature, his Creature would already be fast asleep, shaggy, stringy hair in his eyes as his cheek was pressed against the bars._

_Alan would press a hand to the face of his poor Creature in an attempt to wake him up._

_Cold._

_Had he only gotten there sooner..._

_Alan, against his better judgement, would steal away his sleeping child and find a more peaceful place for him to rest than on an operating table. And then, outside all form of reality, Alan would find himself and his child in a place found only in a dream and on the side of a game cabinet. A place of color, light, and beauty that was beyond anything Alan could have ever dreamed in his entire life._

_Alan would not need a shovel or a spade. The circuit-clad ground greatly welcomed its prodigal son, and as the body vanished, Alan would swear that the entire World around him glowed a tint brighter._

_And in this dream, Alan would finally know where this was._

_This was Home._


	18. All Our Yesterdays

_This was home._

_As much as he hated to admit it, this was home._

_There was nothing he could do to change that._

_Turning away from the darkened sky, he refocused his attention to more important matters._

_He had to do what he came to do._

_Once upon a time, there was a man on a bike, and he had ran away. He could hear them coming; he needed to be quick._

_There had been plenty of time for him to turn back, but the fates were not kind to him. This was the only way, he thought as he loosened his belt. There was nowhere else to go, and nowhere else to stay._

_How long had he been here?_

_One eyeblink made a second._

_Sixty seconds made a minute._

_Sixty minutes made an hour, and so did 3,600 seconds._

_Twelve hours made a Clock, as did 720 minutes, and also 43,200 seconds._

_Two Clocks made a day; 24 hours, 1440 minutes, and 86,400 seconds did the same._

_365 days in a year; that equaled 730 clocks, 8,760 hours, 525,600 minutes, and 31,536,000 seconds._

_31,536,000_

_63,072,000_

_94,608,000_

_126,144,000..._

_He stood at the base of the tallest tree he could find, and with his belt in hand, he began to climb._

_126,144,000._

_2,102,400._

_35,040._

_2,920._

_1,460..._

_Numbers were his sole retreat; they were the only things that remained constant in an ever changing World. Finding a high, sturdy branch to stand on, he carefully knelt down and pulled a few nails out of his sock; he had been hiding them there, just in case._

_Just as he also had the belt, just in case._

_He wove the belt in through itself, before gently resting the loop around his neck._

_One end of the belt would be nailed to the tree. Then, he would jump._

_All for home._


	19. Purgatorio: I

**Act III:**

**Purgatorio**

**I**

Thomas Bradley was twenty-seven years old. He had just finished his postgraduate studies in Missouri, and he had come home to California in order to look for good employment. He didn't have enough money to buy a place of his own, so he rented from Flynn, paying in a fixed amount each month, and also paying through his service. Thomas was an epileptic; that situation at the arcade, as far as as anyone was concerned, was a rare, spontaneous seizure. He had mostly recovered from that affair, although he took precautions to keep it from happening again. He also had mild dyslexia and his handwriting was terrible, but he was very talented at mathematics and was a budding artist. He loved nature, and he had always wanted to see the Alps one day. He had plans to become vegetarian, but not all of his attempts to do so were successful.

"You alright?" his older brother asked, glancing over at Thomas, who was in the passenger's seat of his car.

Tom absently replied, "Mmm-hmm." He stared forlornly out the window.

Alan sighed and looked back at the road. "I know you don't want to do this…"

'But it's the only choice I have," Tom finished, finally tearing his eyes away from the window to look at his 'brother'. "I know."

"It's all going to be worth it, compared to the alternative," Alan insisted. "You'll get to go to the park. See the world, even. You wanted to do that, right? Isn't that what you came for?" When Tom didn't respond, Alan sighed. "Let's go over it one more time. What's your name?"

"Thomas Bradley," he mumbled.

"I can't hear you."

"_Thomas Bradley._"

Alan forced himself to keep his cool. "What's your middle name?"

"James."

"Full name?"

"Thomas James Bradley."

"How old are you?"

"… Twenty-seven."

"Don't count on your fingers next time. You should know this like that. When's your birthday?"

"January 3rd, 1958."

"Just January 3rd is fine, Tom. Where did you grow up?"

"Palo Alto."

"No, you attended college there for a few years. You grew up outside San Francisco."

"I thought I went to college in Missouri."

"You did, but Palo Alto was before that. You spent two years in Palo Alto, four years at Cal Tech - where you met Flynn - and then went for three years in Missouri."

"Two… four… three. Got it."

"What did you major in?"

"What did I ma… fragment. Excuse my language."

"If I remember correctly, you wanted to go into engineering and architecture."

Becoming enthralled in the conversation, Tom didn't sound as reluctant anymore. "Engineering and architecture… now, what are those again?"

"Engineering, at its simplest, is working with and building machines and structures. Architecture is designing buildings."

Tom looked confused. "You know I can't build."

"Sure you can," Alan replied, attempting to be encouraging. "You did pretty well with those blocks I got last week. Don't worry so much - you'll be fine."

Tom hesitated for several moments. "How long have I been here?"

"Your entire life," Alan replied, harsher than he intended to sound. "That's what you have to believe now."

"No, really," Tom insisted.

Alan sighed. "A little more than a month.

"A month is twenty-eight days, right?"

"Only in February. Except during a leap year."

"Then it's thirty-one days."

Alan chuckled and shook his head. "Close enough. You'll get it eventually."

"February has thirty-one days during a leap year, right?" Tom insisted. "Or was it the weird one that had thirty-two?"

"Twenty-nine, Tom," Alan replied.

"Twenty-nine?" Tom asked. "Are you sure? I thought it was thirty-two."

"With all due respect," Alan replied coolly, "I've been here longer than you have."

Alan eventually pulled up in the driveway of a small house, significantly different than what Tom was used to seeing. Alan turned off the engine, but before he invited Tom to leave the car, he turned to face his 'brother'.

"One last question," he stated slowly. "What… is… my name?"

Without hesitation, Tom started, "Alan On…" He abruptly cut himself off. "Alan O… Al… A… Alan O…" Tom sounded like he had a boulder caught in his throat before he finally forced himself to say, "A… _Alan._" Tom bit down on his tongue so hard that even Alan could feel the pain. "_AAAAAAAAAAlaaaaaaaaaannnnnn._"

Alan felt pity for his creation. "Good boy. Look, I'll visit you on weekends, okay? When I can. And you can always call me. Are you going to be good?"

"Yes, Alan On… Alan." The word was acid in Tom's mouth.

"Tom?"

No response.

"Tom?"

Still no response.

"Thomas Bradley."

Tom responded.

"Yeah?"

"I love you," Alan stated. "Okay? You can do this. Just keep working at it. If you need anything, call me, okay?" He reached over to hug his "brother," and Tom willingly accepted the embrace.

"I love you too," Tom whispered, before adding, "Alan One?"

Alan didn't bother correcting Tom this time. "Yeah?"

"Will you come with me? At least?"

Alan paused, before sighing. "Okay. Let's get out on three. One… two… three."

Both brothers unbuckled their seatbelts and stepped out of the car at the same time. Alan made sure to grab Tom's small bag of belongings, before gently coaxing Tom to the front door of the house. With a nod from Alan, Tom tentatively rang the doorbell.

Not ten seconds later was the door opened by none other than the Arcade King himself.

"Hey, guys," Flynn greeted jubilantly, before noticing Tom's scowl and promptly dismissing it. "Tom! Tom, it's been years, man! How've you been?"

Tom glared at Flynn, before forcing himself to say, "I've been better."

Flynn turned his attention to Alan before lowering his voice, "Thanks for bringing him."

"No problem," Alan whispered back. "Any more questions?"

"Nothing we didn't discuss on the phone," Flynn replied. "Well," he spoke up once again, clapping his hands together and chuckling, "since you're here, Alan, would you mind staying for dinner?"

Tom glanced over at Alan.

"That would be nice," Alan replied, and Tom let out the breath he had been holding.

"Alright, cool!" Flynn replied. "I'll tell Belinda not to put too much salt in the potatoes, then. Tom, you want to come in and meet the family?"

"Actually," Tom piped up, "I'd like to talk to you for a moment."

"Alone? Sure, man." Flynn led Tom to the front porch while Alan waited in the living room.

"Look," Flynn stated once they were both seated on the porch swing, "I'm sorry. I've been a real ass to you lately."

"No shutdown."

"Anyway," Flynn continued, ignoring that snide comment, "look, I want to make things better for you. For us. I don't want this grudge that you have separating us and keeping us from being friends. Are you still mad about the arcade thing?"

"No," Tom abruptly replied. "No, I'm not mad. Not mad at all. _Pissed_, maybe, but definitely not mad."

Flynn sighed and rolled his eyes. "Of all the words you had to learn from Alan…" he muttered, before speaking up. "Tom, for the ten millionth time, I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do that will make you forgive me?"

"Yes," Tom replied gruffly, a threatening tone entering his voice. "_**Never. Enter. That place. Ever. Again.**_"

Flynn seemed to know from Tom's tone what "that place" was. After what seemed like hours, Flynn replied, "Okay. I promise."

"I mean it, Flynn," Tom hissed. "You can never make up for what you did to me. To my people. Mark my words, Flynn." Tom's lip curled. "I don't know when, and I don't know how, but if you enter that place or even touch another _video game_," every syllable was another hypothetical dagger in Flynn's chest, "again, I assure you… you _will _pay."

This seemed to sober Flynn up, and he seemed to finally learn the severity of the situation.

"I understand," Flynn replied after several moments of opening and closing his mouth. "I know how much this means to you. I'll try not to… do anything like that again."

"Kevin?"

Flynn turned around, and Tom did as well, only to see a beautiful young woman by the door. Tom's entire body went numb at the sight of her; other than the pictures around Alan [One]'s house, he had never seen a User-type woman before. Her body was not clad in black, and nor was it dotted with circuitry. Her shoulders or arms were not oddly exposed, and her cheeks were rosy red, a foreign color to Tom. Heat coursed through his body before finally rising to his cheeks, and his User-circuitry pulsed significantly faster.

"Yeah?" Flynn asked, grinning charmingly at the woman.

"Dinner's almost ready," she said in reply. "I didn't know where you were, but Alan said you were out here with your friend." She turned her attention to Tom, which made the latter feel dizzy and almost faint. "I don't think we've been introduced."

Flynn chuckled. "Sorry about that, hon. Tom, this is my wife, Jordan Canas. Jordan, this is Tom Bradley, Alan's brother. He's going to be staying with us for a while."

Jordan chuckled. "I could have introduced myself, you know." She brushed a stray strand of blond hair out of her face before reaching out to shake Tom's hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Tom."

"Same," Tom replied, shaking her hand with a shy smile. He would have said something more, but his tongue was tied. If Flynn hadn't stepped in, he wouldn't have even been able to introduce himself. Even worse, he would have been able to introduce himself, but he would have completely messed up the details.

Flynn stood up and nodded to Jordan. "Alright, hon. We'll be right inside. Come on, Tom."

With more effort than he should have put into doing so, Tom stood up and followed Flynn inside. However, he couldn't stop thinking about Jordan. Jordan… such a strange and lovely name. Was it a common User name? Or was it as strange as it sounded? His thoughts ended here, as Tom couldn't hear himself over the sound of his own User-circuitry-pulse.

He couldn't explain the feeling he had. It wasn't something he had had around Yori. It was something new, something different.

He wanted to _have _her.

However, what he saw next in the dining room distracted Tom from these strange feelings. He saw Alan and two people - a man and woman - he didn't recognize sitting at a table with lots of eating-things on it. Alan smiled warmly upon seeing his 'brother' and invited Tom to sit next to him.

"Kevin," Jordan asked, putting a hand on her husband's shoulder, "do you mind going to get Sam this time? He seems to like you better," she added teasingly.

Flynn smirked and replied, "Yeah, I'll go get him." He turned around and left as Jordan sat down at the table.

"How are you doing?" Alan whispered.

"Pretty good," Tom whispered back.

"You liking it?"

"It'll take some getting used to," Tom whispered. "It… feels strange."

"It's okay," Alan whispered back. "You're going to be fine."

"So, you're Thomas," stated a voice from nearby, and Tom turned around to look at its source. The unfamiliar woman was smiling pleasantly at him. "Wonderful to meet you. I'm Belinda, Kevin's mother-in-law, and this is my husband, Donnelly."

"How's it going, Tom?"

Tom smiled shyly and shook both their hands.

"It's nice to meet you," he replied, feeling a little more welcome.

The woman, Belinda, suddenly seemed to remember something. "Oh! The food! Heavens, I was so excited to meet our guest that I almost forgot about dinner! I'm sorry, dear."

"I'll help you, if that's alright," Alan offered.

"Oh, that would be splendid. Thank you, Alan."

"I may as well help, too," Donnelly piped up, beginning to stand. "Saves you the trouble of asking me."

"Stop it, you," Belinda tutted. "If it's that much trouble for you, then you may as well not eat tonight."

"What are you talkin' about? You wouldn't let me miss dinner if the Commies came and blew us to kingdom come!" Donnelly objected. "And I doubt your pot pies can protect us from radiation!"

"Dad," Jordan warned.

"You'll be blown to kingdom come if that food isn't out here soon, sir," Belinda huffed, only to turn around and see Alan carry a bowl of cooked vegetables.

"She's right," Alan piped up. "Can't let it get cold."

Belinda, Alan, and Donnelly left for the kitchen once more, and Tom was about to use this opportunity to talk to Jordan when Flynn could suddenly be heard from another room.

"There we go, big guy. Ready to eat? You're so hungry, aren't you, buddy?"

Flynn came back inside, and what he was carrying immediately grabbed Tom's attention. In Flynn's arms was a miniature User-type, clothing and all. Tom frowned and looked curiously at the little User-type, wondering what its purpose was. Obviously by the way Flynn was handling it, it didn't seem to be capable of doing much. So why was it there? The more Tom watched it and its behaviors, the more Tom began to grow disgusted with it. Not only was it incapable of performing any useful actions, but its intelligence was significantly lower than what was considered functional; lower than Flynn's or Alan's or even his own. Tom wondered how a User-type like that could even exist, and why Flynn chose to keep this one…

When Flynn noticed Tom staring, Tom quickly looked down at his empty plate. He could tell Flynn loved the disgusting little thing, and he didn't want to cause any trouble, especially since everyone was in such a good mood.

All of the food gradually came and, with a subtle prompt from Alan, Tom declined the offer of chicken and instead helped himself to potatoes and vegetables, plus a few rolls.

While everyone else carried on with their bicker (Tom could understand only half of it, anyway), Tom glanced down at his eating-tools and attempted to remember what Alan had taught him.

Okay.

Take fork.

No, that wasn't a fork.

Take _fork_.

Fork was used for scooping?

No. For stabbing.

Set fork down.

Take spoon.

Spoon was used for scooping.

Scoop vegetables with spoon.

Raise contents to mouth with spoon.

Put in mouth.

Empty contents into mouth.

Take spoon out.

Lower spoon.

Crush contents in mouth with teeth.

Chew.

Chew.

Chew.

Swallow.

Repeat process.

Want to try potatoes.

Try using same process to eat potatoes.

"So, Tom," Donnelly asked, "how's Missouri?"

Realize process was not going to achieve desired result.

Use fork instead, and repeat process.

"It's alright, I guess," Tom replied, finding more success in eating his potatoes with a fork. "Nothing like home, but still nice."

"I bet there's a lot of nice people," Belinda piped up. "Did you have any friends there, Thomas?"

"Yeah," Tom replied, a wide grin beginning to spread across his face. With a hint of melancholy that only Flynn and Alan could detect, Tom added, "I miss them already."

"I heard there was pretty bad snow in the Joplin area last year," Jordan piped up.

"Yeah," Tom replied, glancing over in her direction. "It was pretty bad."

"I hope you don't mind my asking, Tom," Donnelly inquired casually, "but what did you to go to college for?"

Tom had to think for a moment; he had almost forgotten that this kind of question was going to be asked! After a few more moments, he replied, "Architecture. And engineering. Building." He chuckled nervously.

"And where are you planning to get a job?" Donnelly continued.

Uh-oh. Alan hadn't covered this.

"I… I'm not quite sure yet," Tom stuttered. "I… haven't found anywhere that will take me. I… looked everywhere."

"I'm surprised no one will take you," Belinda piped up. "There's a huge demand for new architects in Missouri, last I heard, and pretty much everywhere. People are always looking for someone with new and creative ideas that will last into the next century."

"If it comes," Donnelly grunted.

Oh, dear. Oh, goodness. Oh, Users, this wasn't good.

"I'm sorry you got turned down," Belinda stated, finishing her dinner. "But you know what they say. When at first you don't succeed…"

'Try, try again," Donnelly finished, smiling over at Tom. "Maybe you want to ask those places one more time so they can have a better look at your resume. Either that, or maybe you need to go to school for a few more years."

"I guess," Tom replied. "Maybe going to school for a few more years isn't such a bad idea." Feel thirsty. Grab cup. Take drink.

"Of course," Alan piped up, "that would depend on who's paying tuition."

Swallow. Take another drink.

Swallow.

"Yeah," Tom shakily replied, although he had no idea what Alan was talking about. "I could probably find some good… schools in… in… Missouri, or… California, or… or… or… Palo Alto?"

Only Tom heard the sound Alan made in his throat before his "older brother" started laughing, albeit in a very forced tone.

'Forgive him," Alan stated, continuing to 'laugh'. "He's got the weirdest sense of humor. Honest to God, he's too much."

Tom forced himself to laugh as well, although Alan's actions told him he had done something wrong. "Yeah, I… do say kind of strange things sometimes."

Jordan raised an eyebrow.

Belinda only chuckled. "Well, I can tell you two were close. Still are, I mean. So, what do you like to do, Tom?"

"I like to draw," Tom replied without hesitation, "and also clean floors."

"_Tom,_" Alan stated, forcing another chuckle. "He's a joker, that little devil. Don't know what I would do without him." Grinning, Alan added through his teeth, "We need to talk."

"Right n-?" Tom started, but he felt a heavy weight pressing down on his foot. "Ow!"

"May we be excused?" Alan asked Belinda, before adding, "Wonderful dinner, by the way. The potatoes were perfect."

"Of course," Belinda replied, starting to collect the plates.

Jordan watched as Alan left with Tom in tow, and Flynn, without any kind of hesitation, requested the same and followed them, leaving Jordan with Sam.

* * *

"I can't do it."

"Tom..."

Brothers sat in the living room alone, far out of earshot of anyone in the kitchen.

"You saw how I screwed up. I'm not ready."

"Tom," Alan replied, before sighing and putting a hand on Tom's shoulder, "I'm sorry for getting mad. I should have given you more time to get ready. I expected too much from you."

"I'm sorry, Alan One," Tom continued, not even bothering to remember his User's new name. "I got nervous and panicked."

"It's okay," Alan insisted. "Everyone makes mistakes. Even me. I tried my best to cover for you, but I doubt it cleared everything. The most you can do is practice, and you'll get better. The better you get, the more everyone will forget about this little mess. Trust me."

"Hey," Flynn interrupted, walking into the living room.

"I'm sure you're the last person he wants to talk to right now," Alan hissed, but Tom shook his head.

"It's not his fault," Tom piped up.

Having then been officially invited into the conversation, Flynn sat down on the couch on the opposite side of Tom.

"It's alright, bud," Flynn attempted to encourage his friend. "It's only your first time. You'll get better at it."

"Flynn?" Tom suddenly asked.

"Yeah?"

"Can I go back?"

Flynn looked surprised. "But you said-!"

"I know what I said. I was... mad, and I wasn't thinking. I thought that I could stay here for a while, but after a few millic- weeks, I realized... I don't belong here. I can't live in this World. In your World. It was nice to meet Alan One and see all of the beautiful things, but... your World would be better off without me here."

"You only just got here," Flynn protested, but when Alan glared at him, Flynn corrected himself, "I'll see what I can do. But first," he added, standing up and inviting Tom to do the same, "I have a present for you. Maybe it'll change your mind about leaving."

Tom tentatively followed Flynn out of the room, both of them running into Jordan as they were leaving.

"Kevin-"

"Not now, hon," Flynn interrupted. "Got something to do first. Keep an eye on the baby. Hi, Sam."

Tom looked over his shoulder at "the baby" in Jordan's arms before continuing to follow Flynn.

The two of them finally arrived in a room that was not unlike Alan's Computer Room. Out of surprise and reverence, Tom stayed at the doorway, letting Flynn go in ahead of him to get what he wanted.

Flynn, turning around and noticing Tom's hesitation, piped up, "Well, come on, Tom."

Tom only took a few steps inside, but no closer to that Sacred User's Tool.

Flynn, dismissing this, looked around in several drawers before noticing the object he wanted on a smaller desk. Picking up the object that Tom could barely see, Flynn approached Tom once again, gently coaxing him to come farther inside.

"I have a present for you," Flynn repeated quietly, before adding, "Call it an apology. From before. You deserve better than this, Tom."

Flynn handed Tom a small, black square object, slightly larger than the palm of his hand but still small enough to wrap his fingers around. It was inscribed with something, but Tom couldn't read it.

"I managed to save her before the archive crash," Flynn explained, a tone of melancholy entering his voice as he watched Tom's reaction. "I've been meaning to put her on the Grid for a while, but... I don't know if she's compatible. If she's not, she... she can't survive. I didn't want to take the risk. The last thing I want is for you to find her again and then immediately watch her derezz."

Tom's eyes grew misty; he cradled the Disk in his hand. He tried to imagine she was there, not in spirit, but in actual presence, and wondered why something so important to him could be so small and insignificant to the Uses. He held the Disk close to him, wanting to speak but only able to whisper her name over and over again.

"It was the only way I could preserve her," Flynn added. "I knew she would be safe there. I'm sorry, Tom. Tron."

"Thank you," Tom managed to whisper as he cradled her gently as he would cradle her chin. He tucked her in his shirt pocket, promising never to leave her. Promising to protect her. To keep her with him forever and ever.

* * *

And Yori, in her eternal Pull, lay despairingly against the wall of that dark room. However...

If she listened carefully...

She could hear the steady sound...

Of a heartbeat.


	20. Purgatorio: II

**II**

Tom lay his small bag on his bed. Looking around what Flynn had called the "guest room," Tom wondered if this was going to be his sleeping quarters for the rest of his life. He was probably going to derezz here, he mused. Or what was the User word for it? Die.

He was going to die here.

Tom opened up the small bag and took out the items inside. There was his drawing-book, his coloring-book (by now he learned the color names, if nothing else), a few pencils and a box or so of "crayons." At the bottom of the bag was a picture of Alan and his "wife" that probably would not have been missed until Alan returned home later that night. Saying goodbye to Alan for what he thought would be the last time was one of the most painful things he had ever done in his life. The fact that he wouldn't ever see Alan again, except when they would visit each other every once in a while… Ever since Alan had turned around, left the house, got into his car, and drove away, there had been a depression within Tom that he only half understood. It sank in; he was alone now, for the first time in a while. He was alone, and Alan wasn't going to come home for a long time.

Propping up the picture on the small table by his bed, Tom threw himself onto the bed (not bothering to take off his shoes like Alan had always instructed him to do) and buried his head in the pillow, turning his head only to look at the picture. There was Alan, the resemblance between he and Tom clear, and…

No. That couldn't be.

Tom was probably imagining things. It wasn't her.

After feeling content with how long he had stared at the picture, Tom switched his attention to the pillow he had laid his head upon. It felt soft, even softer than the one in his room at Alan's. It was even softer than the pillow he had found when he had first woken up in this World. It was at, what was it…?

The Arcade.

Tom shivered and rolled over so that his back was to the picture. He wanted to forget that place, but in order to forget, he had to forget what it had done to him, how it made him see the true nature of Users…

"Tom?"

At the sound of his name (it had taken a few weeks of "training," but after a while, Tom learned to respond to his name), Tom sat up. At the doorway was Flynn, with an apologetic smile on his face. Instinctively, Tom lay a hand on his shirt pocket to check if Yori was still there. She was.

"What do you want?" Tom inquired, now rolling out of bed and standing up to his full height.

Flynn's smile grew weaker. "There's someone else I want you to meet."

Tom followed Flynn down the hallway into one of the only rooms he hadn't already visited that night. The walls and items inside were different than anything Tom had ever seen. Just as he had at the Computer Room, Tom waited at the door, watching Flynn with a careful and curious eye.

"Hey," Tom heard Flynn say, although he wasn't sure to whom Flynn was talking. "You have a nice nap? Alright, time to come out…"

When Flynn turned around to face Tom once again, Tom recognized what Flynn was holding; the same dwarfed User-type from dinner.

"Tom, I'd like you to meet Sam, my son," Flynn stated, approaching Tom while the smaller User-type looked around aimlessly.

Tom was about to say something, but he didn't know how Sam would react or respond. So the wriggling worm had a name? Tom couldn't say he was surprised, but… he couldn't say he wasn't, either.

After a few moments, Tom asked Flynn quietly, "Does he… understand?"

Flynn could tell by the look on Tom's face what he was talking about. "Not much right now, but he's still young. He's a growing boy, so you have to be patient." Even softer, "Users don't operate in the same way Programs do." He spoke up again, "Don't be shy. You want to hold him?"

Tom's attention turned to Sam as the latter finally looked at him. Naïve eyes were wide and curious as Sam was taking in the stranger in front of him. He looked like Alan, but at the same time, he didn't…?

Timidly, Tom held out his arms and received Sam. Sam was heavier than Tom expected him to be, but soon, Tom had a secure hold. Tom was unnerved by how Sam began to squirm in his arms. However, Sam sensed Tom's trepidation; why was the strange man so afraid of him? This man was very strange, and that only made him more interesting. Some soft noises came out of Sam's mouth as he reached up to touch Tom's face. Tom flinched, but Flynn laughed at the small display.

"Look at that," Flynn piped up. "He likes you."

Their eyes met again, and Tom and Sam stared at each other curiously; Sam with intrigue and a childish sense of adventure, and Tom with poorly masked fear and hesitation.

"It's okay," Flynn stated, standing beside Tom and therefore drawing Sam's attention. "He won't bite. He'll teethe a little, but I doubt he'll do anything that bad. He's not going to hurt you." He briefly brushed a finger against Sam's tiny nose, which made him suddenly burst out in giggles. "See? Harmless. I can see you two being fast friends. Just wait."

* * *

Flynn having to leave more often for work left Tom having to look after Sam several times during the week. At first, most of his "babysitting" was spent sitting on the couch, observing Sam's behavior and how… differently he acted than most of the User-types - or, even, most Programs - he had seen. The way he aimlessly wandered and dumbly interacted with his surroundings… it was strangely endearing.

Sam, seeing that his new friend looked lonely and wasn't doing anything, grabbed one of his toy cars and toddled up to Tom, who looked surprised at the sudden confrontation.

"Play?" Sam asked curiously, holding up the car so that Tom could see.

"Um…" It had never occurred to Tom that at some time, Sam would approach him and make conversation. What a strange choice of words, though!

His new friend looked confused, so Sam tried to explain, "Play! Play! Play! Vroom! Vroom-vroom! Play! Play!"

Tom didn't know what to say to this odd request. "I don't understand…"

What was there to understand? "Play! Plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! Play! Play now!" Sam tugged as hard as he could on Tom's pant leg, indicating that he wanted Tom to go _somewhere_, but…?

Tom stood up, and Sam burst out into a bunch of happy noises that Tom couldn't quite understand. After a brief chant of "Yay! Yay! Yay!" Sam tugged on Tom's pant leg some more before running to and polpping down on the floor in the middle of the room. "Play! Play!"

Tom cautiously approached Sam. "I still don't understand. What do you mean?" If he was going to have to learn to be fluent in this strange babble…

"Plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!" Sam whined, before throwing one of his cars toward Tom. Tom, spooked, jumped back a few steps. "Play! Play! Play. Floor. Play. Down." Sam was exploring his limited vocabulary in order to convince his new friend to play with him.

Tom took his best guess as to what Sam meant. Slowly and clumsily, Tom sat down cross-legged on the floor. Sam emitted sounds of triumph and rushed over to Tom, throwing himself into his chest ("Oof!") before grabbing the discarded car toy and holding it up to show Tom again. "Vroom!"

Vroom? Realizing Sam was giving him the miniature car, Tom took the car in his hand. Why was it so small? And it didn't operate correctly, either. Why did Sam give this to him?

Sam suddenly ran off before returning to Tom with a few more of those little cars. He dropped them in a scattered heap on the floor before picking a few up again (what was the purpose of that? Tom wondered) and tossing them in Tom's direction. The strange little User-type then jumped back into his former position in Tom's lap.

"Play! Cars! Play!" Sam squealed, before wheeling the car back and forth on the floor beside him to demonstrate. Hesitantly, Tom did the same with his car, much to Sam's delight.

"Vroom! Vroom!" Sam cried out triumphantly, crawling off Tom's lap on his belly and giving himself more room to play with the car. Tom lay on his belly as well, although as he wheeled the car back and forth, he was filled with a certain melancholy as the car took on a different appearance in his mind. Losing himself in a different time and World…

"Having fun, boys?"

Tom had lost track of time; he looked up only to see Jordan leaning against the doorframe. Immediately, at the sound of her voice, Sam dropped his car, stood up, and ran to Jordan's side.

"Mommy!" Sam shouted, latching tightly onto her leg and forgetting all about Tom.

Tom, with a wistful smile, slowly stood up. "Jordan. I… I didn't see you come in."

After several whines of "Up! Up! Up!" Jordan reached down to pick up her son and held him tightly. "I've learned not to make my entrances too dramatic. Kevin appreciates that, mainly because he's the drama queen between us."

It suddenly sank in; Tom was in a room. Alone. With Jordan. And Sam, but that didn't affect anything.

"Yeah," Tom replied after a few moments of silence, realizing that he hadn't made a reply yet. "Flynn's always like that… at least, that's how I remembered him to be."

Jordan raised an eyebrow at this, but Tom was too preoccupied to notice. "Strange… Flynn only started talking about you this past month. You'd think that having your brother as a co-worker would bring you up in conversation a lot more often." Tom held his breath, but let it out as Jordan continued, "Of course, that could also be because Mr. Hotshot Flynn never tells me _anything_. I never know what's going through that man's head; that's my only complaint about him." She turned around to carry Sam to his room, and Tom felt obligated to follow. "Don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy; he's smart, funny, and down to earth. However, with the way he acts sometimes, I can't tell whether he's cheating on me behind my back or being the next Al Capone. You understand?" She entered Sam's room and laid him in what Tom learned was called Sam's "crib." Once Sam was content, Jordan turned back to Tom.

"I completely understand," Tom replied as they both walked back into the hallway, and Tom was about to go into a lengthy explanation of how some inexperienced Grid Security Programs would be better off not taking serious matters into their own hands when he suddenly realized that this was neither the time nor the place for it. Instead, he continued, "At my old job in… Missouri, I… had a few friends who… were the same way."

Jordan seemed to shrug off Tom's hesitation, before chuckling and adding, "I don't know how Flynn could go without telling me about you." She lay a hand on his chest and added softly, "You're just so… _interesting_."

Tom's heart was beating rapidly enough without that odd, playful tone in Jordan's voice. Jordan smirked as Tom's once stable breathing had turned into shudders. Jordan, knowing perfectly well what she was doing, carefully tickled her way up his torso and neck and traced her fingers smoothly along his jaw line. "Mr. ENCOM CEO is working late tonight. I doubt either of us will see him until morning. It's going to make for a long, boring night unless you like watching the news for six hours."

Tom let it all sink in. Before he did anything, he had to confirm this was actually _happening_. "What are you suggesting?"

Jordan giggled, and suddenly, Tom's pants became tighter. "Get to know each other, at the very least. Nothing that's going to get us in trouble. I wouldn't dream of having an affair so soon in our marriage. But that doesn't mean we can't still be friends." She chuckled. "Not to mention I've always wanted someone who was… _dependable_, for once."

"I'm… dependable," Tom replied weakly, not sure whether to be mesmerized or be frightened. He chose the former; the look Jordan was giving him made Tom briefly forget his own name (both names!), and her smile made him so dizzy, he briefly forgot on how many feet he was supposed to stand. This was really happening! This was really happening! Tom only hoped that as loud as his heartbeat had become, Jordan couldn't hear it.

"That would be… splendid," Tom replied with more effort than he should have put into speaking. What was wrong with him? It was almost as if he had forgotten how to talk! His tongue was tied into every sort of knot possible.

Satisfied, Jordan gently patted Tom on the cheek, making his entire face glow a bright red.

"Well, then," Jordan stated, smirking at how Tom had to calculate how to react to her gentle touch, "I'll whip up a few drinks and you can tell me all about your fantastic adventures in Missouri."

* * *

The next few weeks passed as Jordan had predicted; as Flynn's work schedule was getting busier and busier, there was not much objection to Jordan's budding friendship with that handsome young man, Thomas. However, she noted, whatever sort of game he was playing, he was very good at it; no matter what she did, his lips were sealed, and nothing… eccentric about him that Jordan didn't already know (he was extremely protective of a stupid floppy disk, and he had once survived for three days on nothing but chocolate). Maybe there was nothing different about him after all. Maybe she was just paranoid.

No. She knew what she had heard.

And so there was no response from him other than a blush like a ripe tomato and a bulge in his pants. Maybe this whole thing wasn't going to be worth it after all. Then again, he was following her around like a sick puppy. No, like a puppy in general. He was one of those "puppy" guys. Maybe she still had a chance, but she had to act carefully; one wrong move, and there would be a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

Jordan came to a conclusion, more like a theorem: there were only two ways to get a guy to spill what's on his mind. Since they were out of alcohol, she would have to go with the second.

Even though, with this option, her very reputation was at stake.

Late at night, Jordan and Tom were both in her bedroom. Nothing had happened, as he apparently did not recognize the hints to take initiative. Hum. He was innocent, Jordan concluded. That was why nothing was happening. This was certainly no "high school fling" she had ever known. He was definitely the innocent type.

Maybe a little _too _innocent.

"I'm really glad we've gotten to know each other," Tom commented, looking over at Jordan and smiling pleasantly. "I've met… so few other people like you, it's… you don't understand."

"Of course I do," Jordan replied, lying down on her bed and inviting Tom to lie beside her (apparently, he hadn't gotten the memo to come prepared to sleep, either). Tom, in his white polo, jeans, and bare feet, obliged, making himself comfortable on the other side of the bed. His head sank contently into the pillow.

Jordan smirked, trapping his hand in both of her own. "So you're single. You ever had the chance to hit it off with anyone in high school or college? You had a lot of college time, according to Kevin. Ever get bored?"

Tom looked confused. "I never hit anything off anyone, no."

Jordan appeared to take this as a joke. She stroked him under his chin, which he greatly enjoyed.

"You didn't have to tell me you were such a virgin," she purred, stroking his neck and tugging at his shirt collar. "It's been fifteen minutes and you haven't even taken off your shirt."

Tom swallowed and looked down guiltily, but he said nothing. Whatever trance he had been in earlier, he had now broken out of it. He almost looked… frightened.

"Come on, sweetie," Jordan teased, fiddling around with one of the top buttons. "You don't have to be shy around me. We're friends, remember?"

"I wouldn't do that," Tom warned, glancing over in Jordan's direction. "I… that's not a good idea."

This only made Jordan more playful, but part of her excitement came from her finally having found a lead. Something that made him worried. Something he was reluctant to share. She kept advancing, refusing to heed his warnings.

"You're so self-conscious," Jordan teased like there was nothing wrong. "It's so adorable. Come on, lighten up."

The shirt was eventually loose enough to remove and discard. So with delicate fingers (paying heed to the omnipresent floppy disk), she did just that.

The shirt was tossed onto the floor beside the bed.

And Jordan screamed.

* * *

A strange phenomenon had occurred during Tom's extended stay with Alan. The longer he stayed and the healthier he became, the more strongly his "birthmarks" returned; the lines and patterns that only he understood covered his entire body and became thicker and stronger as time progressed. This revelation had made Tom significantly more self-conscious and paranoid, occasionally resorting to even wearing gloves. However, now he was cornered; there was no way out of it. If Tom had never been caught before, he had most certainly caught now.

Out of surprise and shock, Jordan tumbled out of the bed, backing up against the wall as That Creature rose to his full height.

The aforementioned Creature had an expression of hurt and guilt.

"Jordan," he quietly pleaded, making the foolish decision to try and approach the panicked User-type. "Jordan, please don't scream." All the sadness in the world was dripping from his voice; never in a million years had he intended for this to happen. "Don't scream, Jordan, please."

This, of course, only made her scream louder as his imposing figure approached her, making a poor attempt to soothe her. In a panic, Jordan grabbed the nearest object (a shoe) and furiously flung it at him, only becoming more encouraged to throw objects as the shoe struck him right in the chest. Wisely, he recoiled.

* * *

Jordan had gone into this thinking that Thomas Bradley was yet another one of Flynn's closely guarded secrets. After everything she had heard, though, she was led to believe that maybe Thomas was a bigger secret than she had thought. She had jokingly expected him to be some sort of alien from outer space that Flynn just so happened to be in cahoots with.

She never expected to be _right_.

As Jordan realized she was almost out of ammunition (shoes weren't as easy to come by in the room as she had hoped), she got another good look at Tom and what he had turned out to be. It appeared, she realized as she became able to focus more on her target, that he was more afraid of her than she was of him. Looking the most intimidating she had ever been in a black nightgown, Jordan slowly rose to her feet in what could have been interpreted as a challenge stance. Looking at his terrified expression, Jordan then saw the potential gain from this situation: if the authorities knew about this strange wonder, she could sell him for millions of dollars, enough money to make her a separate individual from Flynn. Flynn. She could only imagine the look on her husband's face when he realized she was capable of more than birthing a child, making dinner, and being the sole human being in the universe to put up with his-!

Tom was trying to get away. She couldn't allow that.

Jordan sprinted to beat him to the door. She firmly pressed her back against it, before giving Tom a swift kick in the shin. He recoiled and backed away, but he did not fight back.

_He doesn't want to hurt me,_ Jordan mockingly thought, before attempting to figure out a way to distract him. The struggle continued; soon, neither of them were able to tell what markings on Tom's body were "birthmarks" and what markings were bruises from Jordan's constant attacks. Anytime Tom was flat on his back, Jordan took special notice of the patch of skin where his belly-button should have been. That only encouraged her to subdue him more; that was the ultimate proof.

However, she truly did not get a reaction from him until she socked him straight in the nose.

* * *

Tom was able to take most of her beatings, although his User-type skin was more frail and easily bruised than he had expected it to be. No matter what her weapon of choice was (hands, shoes, a purse, a table lamp… he almost made a game out of identifying all the User-type objects she was using to maim him!), Tom was usually able to keep struggling; his main objective was to reach the door and escape. That wouldn't have helped much, especially if Belinda and Donnelly were home, but at least Tom could convince himself he had some degree of freedom in this situation. Even though he was able to withstand a lot of the pain that Jordan was giving him (both physically and emotionally), that still didn't affect the fact that he was virtually helpless. He had been too accustomed to Disc Wars that he forgot the basics of hand-to-hand combat (other than the fact that only hands were used in this type of combat). Even if he was able to defend himself from Jordan, why would he have done anything? Despite the circumstances, he was still smitten with her, and was willing to forgive her if she ever settled down and let him be tended to.

However, he doubted that was ever going to happen.

He was sure it wasn't going to happen, as right at that moment, he heard a loud crack as Jordan punched him right in the nose. Stunned by the throbbing pain of it (noses were sensitive, apparently), Tom reached up to rub the wound when he felt something unnaturally warm on his hand. He brought his hand back down to see that thick red ooze (called "blood," according to Alan) trailing along his hand. Reaching up again, he watched the ooze trail out of his nostril and down his fingers to his palm. He remembered the day when he had punched Flynn and the same thing had happened to him, but Flynn's "blood" ooze came out of his mouth… it still chilled him, and then he felt dizzy.

Too dizzy to almost not feel the sharp, jolting pain in the back of his head, followed by a bright flash of white, before finally fading into deep blackness.

* * *

Jordan panted as she held the 1,270-page architecture book off to the side. So, she had finally gotten him. He lay unconscious on the floor, his nose still dribbling a mixture of mucus and blood. Jordan tentatively kicked the body; he was out cold. Not dead, as she still sensed he was breathing. She let out a sigh of relief; that made him all the easier to deal with, not to mention that she still had a living specimen. As a precaution, though, she made sure to tie him up. Hose would work well. Unable to keep herself from staring at those strange lines Tom had on his body, Jordan rummaged through her drawers for a few pairs of sturdy hose. With one pair, she bound his wrists; another, his ankles. The bounds were quadruple-knotted, not because she thought he wouldn't be able to break free of those, but she wanted to at least feel safer when she was inspecting the body. Also, because she didn't have a pair of handcuffs on her person, so Jordan had to make do with what she had. For added safety (and because she had ended up grabbing an extra pair of hose), Jordan used yet another pair to gag the Creature, making a note to wash the blood off that particular gag when all was said and done. With all of these precautions in place, if Jordan was going to have to sleep with the body still in her bedroom, she may as well do it without fear of getting some intergalactic plague in her sleep.

* * *

"_**KEVIN FLYYYYYYYYYYYYNN!**_"

Flynn could tell that Jordan wasn't a happy camper tonight. Instead of the usual "Hi, honey, welcome home," that he always got, Jordan was yelling for him from their bedroom. Whenever she had that tone, Flynn made sure to sprint as fast as humanly possible in order to see what she wanted. It must have been important; he hadn't heard that tone from her since she was pregnant!

"Don't I get a 'Hi, welcome home'?" Flynn asked as he opened the door to the bedroom. The sight that was in store for him made the color drain from his skin.

Jordan looked anything but amused. "Hi. Welcome home," she remarked dryly, before demanding, "Explain." She pointed at the bruised and battered heap that was Tom, still unconscious after over an hour.

Flynn, in shock, kneeled beside his friend. "How did he get in here?"

Jordan shrugged it off, before bitterly retorting, "Long story. Don't feel like sharing. I figured I may as well return the favor, as you've been doing this to me _ever since we started dating_." Crossing her arms, Jordan continued, "Honest to God, I don't know how I tolerated it for so long. You never tell me _anything, _Flynn. Sometimes, it even seems like you're pretending I don't even exist. All this time, I've just smiled and nodded. That's what I'm for, isn't it? 'Yes, dear.' 'Yes, dear.' 'Yes, dear…' It's 1985, Flynn. Do you see me wearing an apron and a polka-dotted dress? But, of course, I dealt with it. I dealt with it for you, I dealt with it for my parents, I dealt with it for Sam. And you just keep doing your little old thing, just think you can walk all over me. Is that it? Is that what you think?"

"I never said that!" Flynn objected.

"You spent late nights working. That's fine. You're always engrossed in your little computer project. That's fine. You vanish off the face of the earth for entire nights at a time, making everyone you know worried sick until you pop out of nowhere like nothing happened. That's _damn _fine. But when you have the nerve to think that you can slip this thing," Jordan gave Tom a swift kick, "under my nose… then you've crossed the line, Kevin Flynn. I suggest you spill whatever it is you've been hiding from me all this time, Flynn. I want the truth, and nothing but the truth."

Flynn panicked for a moment, before sighing. "Fine. Fine. Okay, I'll spill. There's a micro civilization of Programs in my computer at the arcade. I visit there often, and they made me their king. I know that sounds stupid as hell, but-"

Jordan wasn't impressed. "The _truth_, Kevin!" she yelled.

"That _is _the truth!" Flynn yelled back. "You told me to-"

"I can't believe you would make such a stupid joke at a time like this," Jordan huffed, and out of the corner of his eye, Flynn spotted several Polaroids drying on the nightstand.

Flynn now realized the severity of the situation. "Jordan, you wouldn't!"

"I would!" Jordan roared, noticing that he had spotted the photos. "Mainly because it's the only way I can make you see that I'm a human being, too. I have eyes, I have ears, I have a brain, and I know precisely when I'm being duped. Do you take me for an idiot, Kevin Flynn? Do you think that just because you're the ENCOM CEO, you can just treat everyone as your loyal subjects like you do in your imaginary computer-land? That just because you're a so-called genius, everyone else is too stupid to breathe? Then I've got a memo for you, Your Majesty." She pointed at Tom, who was still unresponsive even amid all of the chaos. "I knew."

It took a moment for it to register, but Flynn soon realized what she was talking about. "You knew about-?"

"Tom. Yeah. Ever since he walked in that door. A five-year-old could have figured it out. Did you honestly expect me to believe he was a human being, a normally functioning one, at that?" She took several heavy steps toward Flynn. "My cousin lives in Joplin. She called me a while ago and said that the winter last year was the warmest on record. Barely an inch of snow." When she saw the uneasy expression on Flynn's face, Jordan chuckled. "Not to mention there were some other times when he should have watched his mouth…"

* * *

Jordan had never been enthused about someone else staying at her house, especially one of Flynn's friends. Not that Kevin's friends weren't nice people, but from his days at the arcade, he had picked up some… interesting individuals. However, Jordan had been constantly reassured by her husband that Thomas Bradley wasn't one of those goons; he was sweet, kind, and helpful, and it would almost seem as if he had never said a mean thing in his life. Jordan was skeptical, but she had to trust his word. After all, as long as Mr. Bradley understood that he was going to have to work to earn his share in their house, Jordan didn't want to start a conflict.

"Jordan, sweetheart," Belinda called out to her as she popped into the kitchen to check on her mother. "can you be a dear and find Kevin and tell him dinner's almost ready?"

"Yes, Mom," Jordan replied, smiling sweetly as she set off to find her evasive husband. After all, what else could she say or do? She always had to be the one to keep Mr. Flynn out of trouble.

A while of searching around the house (that Kevin was better at hiding than even Sam!) led her to the living room, where she ran into an unexpected guest.

"Mr. Alan Bradley," Jordan mused, approaching him. "Getting too busy to call, now, every once in a while."

Alan chuckled. "Hi, Jordan. And you underestimate how busy ENCOM's gotten in the past few years, especially on the executive board."

"Someone's got to keep that CEO in line," Jordan agreed, chuckling as well. When Flynn was at work, Alan became his babysitter. "Speaking of Flynn, have you seen him lately?"

Alan nodded. "He's outside on the porch, talking to my brother."

Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Your brother? I thought you were an only child."

If Alan had been caught, Jordan certainly didn't see it. Alan only shrugged it off, "He was estranged, mostly. I love him, but he's an oddball sometimes. I don't talk about him often."

Jordan pondered about this for a moment, before replying, "The porch, right?"

"Yeah."

Jordan nodded at her husband's best friend. "Thank you." She left, but as she was about to exit the house, she heard voices coming from outside.

"Tom, for the ten millionth time, I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do that will make you forgive me?"

"Yes. _**Never. Enter. That place. Ever. Again.**_"

Jordan frowned. That sounded like Alan's voice, but… wasn't Alan in the living room? She knew that siblings sometimes had similar voices, but this resemblance was uncanny, almost as if "Tom" was some sort of… clone? It didn't make sense.

"Okay. I promise."

"I mean it, Flynn. You can never make up for what you did to me. To my people. Mark my words, Flynn: I don't know when, and I don't know how, but if you enter that place or even touch another _video game _ever again, I assure you… you _will _pay."

Jordan did a double-take; this was _not _how old friends from college talked. However, one particular phrase stood out in her mind: "_to my people._" For someone who was implied to be perfectly normal, nothing wrong with him, this was a very strange thing for "Tom" to say. Could it be that…?

No. That wasn't possible. He was, after all, Alan's brother…

Alan, who was an only child.

Jordan vowed to get to the bottom of this, although for now, she only smiled pleasantly and briefly interrupted their conversation in order to tell her husband and his friend that dinner was ready.

When she first saw Tom's face, he was exactly as she feared him to be: Tom looked exactly the same as Alan, only without his omnipresent glasses. This was getting infinitely creepy. However, when he saw her, Tom acted anything but hostile; he gave her a pleasant, almost goofy smile that made him look as if he had been suddenly shot by Cupid's arrow. The fact that he gazed at her in such a lovesick trance was almost endearing, if not for the fact that he had proven to be the strangest one of Flynn's friends she had ever met (and with the people that Flynn had met over the years, that was quite an accomplishment).

She only hoped he wouldn't get any stranger.

* * *

It was strange how Tom and Alan had left so suddenly after dinner, especially when Tom looked like he was about to have a panic attack. It was even stranger how Flynn seemed to take off so quickly after them, as if he knew something as well. Of course he knew something; Kevin Flynn _always _knew something, whether Jordan wanted to know what it was or not. Now, however, Jordan was going to know as well, no matter what she had to do.

Politely, she excused herself from the table with the excuse of taking Sam to his room. Quietly, she followed Flynn several paces behind him until he ran into the living room to console Tom. Jordan quietly shushed Sam as she began to eavesdrop. She knew it was wrong to do what she was doing, but she also had the right to be concerned about what kind of strange people were staying in her house.

"Flynn?" The voice sounded much too innocent to be Alan; it had to be Tom.

"Yeah?"

"Can I go back?"

"But you said-!"

"I know what I said. I was… mad, and I wasn't thinking. I thought that I could stay here for a while, but after a few millic- weeks, I realized… I don't belong here."

Jordan, eyes wide, quietly crept closer so she could hear better. She didn't care that Sam was trying to get her attention (she shushed him every time he made a sound); she had a lead.

"I can't live in this World. In your World. It was nice to meet Alan One and see all the beautiful things, but…"

The longer she stood there, the more determined she was to get information out of Tom. Why didn't Flynn or Alan react to these strange things? At first, her suspicions were merely suspicions, but after hearing this conversation, Jordan was afraid that every single one of her suspicions would be confirmed, or at least becoming closer to being confirmed. All the signs pointed to Tom not being who he said he was.

* * *

Tom groaned and slowly opened his eyes. There was a massive pain in his head, and his environment was a blur of swirling colors. As he returned more and more to reality, Tom realized his entire body hurt. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was seeing the blood…

After some effort, Tom attempted to sit up, only to realize that he couldn't move his hands or feet. He was tied! There was no way to derezz the binds, so he attempted to call out for Flynn or Alan or _anyone_, only to realize he couldn't speak, either! However, the muffled noises he made certainly attracted attention, as Flynn immediately ran over to help him.

"Look, I don't care what you want to know. I'll tell you anything, right up to the things I swore I didn't say when I was drunk," Flynn urged Jordan, while Tom completely snapped back to reality. "Just… don't do anything else to him. He's been through enough, and most of that is because of me. I acknowledge that. I promise, he won't hurt a fly. Just… leave him alone, okay?" Flynn massaged Tom's wounds, but whenever Flynn touched a sensitive spot, Tom winced and briefly let out a pained cry. He had never understood how difficult life was when injuries couldn't be fixed by simply Disc modifications!

Jordan seemed to calm down slightly. "Alright. Alright. If you don't want me to get rid of him, get rid of him yourself. The last thing I want to worry about is a Marvin the Martian running around my house. However, if you don't fulfill your part of the deal either way, _you're _going to be the one I'm getting rid of. _And _I'm keeping Sam."

"Jordan, I don't think you understand," Flynn hissed, showing admirable maturity. "He's here because he has nowhere else to go. Alan's too busy to look after him. He can't live on his own, and he would die if he tried." Flynn was only further encouraged by Tom's muffled whines. "For your information, he knows full well he's not human. He knows he's not, and he wants to be. He doesn't need you threatening to turn him in!"

Jordan scowled. "So you're putting that _thing _over me?"

"He's not a-!"

"Just as you seem to put everything else over me. I know how it is. Just keep all your little secrets to yourself, why don't you?" She paused for a moment, before putting her hands on her hips. "Take off his gag. If you're not going to tell me what's going on, then _he_ is."

Flynn fumbled with the knot of the hose around Tom's mouth, but eventually, it was untied, and Tom was able to breathe freely again.

As soon as Tom's gag was loosened, Jordan knelt down beside him, before suddenly grabbing a fistful of his hair. "Talk," she hissed.

"Jordan, you're scaring him…"

Clearly traumatized, Tom blurted out, "I'm not Thomas. My name is T… Tron. I'm not from here, I'm from… the Grid. Flynn's System. The… The computer, he… He wasn't lying. I… I'm a Program. From there. I don't know where it is compared to this World. I only came because I wanted to see what this World was like. Alan… Alan One is my creator. He let me stay with him. I never planned to hurt anyone, honest to the Users. Please, let me go. Let me go." When, before coming to this World, had he ever been this pathetic? At this point, however, what other option did he have other than begging for his life?

Jordan paused for a moment (giving his hair a sharp yank and threatening to give another one until she felt him quiver), before she reluctantly let him go. Tom, spooked beyond his own comprehension, began to cry for the first time since leaving the Arcade. He just wanted this night to be over. He wanted this night to be over, and he also wanted to stop hurting…

Jordan turned her attention to Flynn.

"The Grid? Your System? It was… true?"

"My infamous project you've been wondering about," Flynn explained, attempting to console Tom. "I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't believe me. I knew that would happen if I tried to tell you, so I didn't tell you. I didn't tell anyone. Except Alan, but he didn't know that I… go inside. This is Alan's Program, the only one who isn't mine. He… one of the reasons he wanted to come is… because he wanted to see his User. Trust me, he's not planning world domination. If anyone's planning that, it's me," Flynn added jokingly, but his intentions were far from jest.

Jordan looked at Tom's pathetic form for a moment, before turning back to Flynn.

"If you say he won't hurt anyone…"

"He won't hurt anyone," Flynn replied confidently. "I swear."

Jordan paused, before adding cautiously, "You do understand that, if he does stay and anything strange happens, he'll automatically receive the blame?"

"Nothing strange will happen," Flynn replied.

Jordan sighed. "Alright. He can stay if he stays out of the way, and also if he acts relatively _normal_. However, any dead cats on the doorstep, crop circles, or UFOs in the backyard, and he's gone. In the meantime, _you_, Kevin Flynn, do nothing without discussing with me first. If Tom… _Tron_," she added almost skeptically, "is going to stay with us, then I'm going to have to keep a close eye on both of you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, dear."

"Yes, Jordan."

Jordan seemed to be settled down completely, but Tom didn't want to push his luck; he sensed that she would snap with any wrong or unexpected move, and he preferred to keep his hair on his head and his body not broken.

"Very well. I'll help Kevin get you fixed up, _Tom. _But I hope you boys learned a lesson from this."

* * *

Jordan died merely weeks later. She took her secret to her grave.


	21. Purgatorio: III

**III**

****Days became weeks, weeks became months. Tom had grown accustomed to the life of a User-type quicker than he had ever imagined. At its core, he realized, it was routine: in-bed, out-of-bed, morning-food, afternoon-food, evening-food, in-bed. Tom kept track of how much it repeated over and over again, and with every page torn off the "calendar", Tom's heart sank deeper and deeper. The longer he spent here, the farther away his home (and his real home) seemed to be. Soon, in looking at the "calendar," Tom recognized the month "July"; he had been in the World of the Users for almost an entire "year." He never thought he would be able to use that word to describe how long he had stayed, but if things kept going the way they were, then a "year" would be the least of his problems.

* * *

After what had happened with Jordan, Tom became noticeably more paranoid. Despite Flynn's urging, Tom was too shy to make any friends of his own, mainly because he was afraid they would turn out like Jordan. He even withdrew from Belinda and Donnelly, who tried their best to help him even though they did not know what was wrong. Tom only trusted three people: Flynn (he had no choice, especially since Flynn held up his agreement about not going back to the Arcade), Alan, and Sam.

Tom didn't know what it was about the "little boy" (as everyone seemed to call him) that made them so close. Maybe it was because Sam was so unnaturally _open. _As far as Tom knew, Sam didn't have any suspicions about whether or not Tom was "human." Nor, Tom realized, did he really seem to care. Sam was as naively drawn to Tom as Tom had been to Jordan. They were "friends," despite all that had happened, and Tom appreciated it.

That being said, once Jordan was gone (Tom didn't know whether to feel sad or relieved), Tom seemed to fit right into her shoes. He kept Sam company, he did as much of the household work as he could (much to Belinda and Donnelly's delight), and made sure to keep an eye on Flynn (although he had been doing much of this already, especially on the Grid, so this was nothing new for him). He was, Flynn had joked, the "Stay-at-Home Mom" of the family.

Although there were some nights where Tom simply flopped onto his bed, too exhausted to change his clothes, and though he grew more and more homesick by the day, he wouldn't have it any other way. This was as close to home as he was going to get, and he liked it.

* * *

On the nights when Tom wasn't completely exhausted, he let Flynn come in and wake him up at 2:00 AM, when everyone else was sound asleep. Most, if not all, the time, Flynn was holding a book of some kind. On the late nights Flynn would have spent on the Grid, he was teaching Tom how to read (considering his stay was growing longer and longer). Alan had done the hard part of introducing Tom to "User-Script" and why it was something he needed to know; Flynn was following up on that.

Tom was a slow learner, and he often became discouraged by his lack of progress. There were some nights when Tom wasn't even motivated to learn, but Flynn saw this as an opportunity to read him stories, books he'd never know until he had the will to learn. Excerpts of classic tales, classic authors, and then there was Shakespeare. Something about those strange patterns of words made them so... magical and different, maybe because they were so old. Or maybe it was the way those words were read, with so much passion and emotion. Tom always became enthralled at these stories, and no matter how intimidated and discouraged he became, he almost always had the will to try at least one more time.

* * *

Starting at the end of the month called "October," there were many days when Tom was advised to stay in bed. It was for good reason, too, he had soon realized; his body was acting up, seeming to malfunction and give him several pains. Flynn, upon inspecting him, had said something about how he was "sick" and how this came about so soon and so often because he had a weak "immune system" (Tom, even after all this time, was still confused by all of this "System" business). He was given a special food and drink usually every day (some of it tasted absolutely disgusting), and even though he wasn't allowed to get up and move around (he tried), Flynn, Sam, Belinda, and Donnelly usually came to visit him.

Flynn was the one who had visited him the most, and he had the most answers. Tom's nose-leak was not an unintended side effect of Jordan's attack, but it was a normal part of the illness. This wasn't something that was going to kill Tom (contrary to his panicked belief), but it was normal for "this time of year." However, as Flynn predicted, Tom's "weak immune system" caused him to be "sick" more and more often. Every time he seemed to be better, in some way, shape, or form, Tom caught the "bug" again.

Unfortunately for the family, Tom had become so sickly, he was ill through the "Christmas" season, leaving them reluctant to carry out their User-type festivities without him. However, much to Tom's surprise, there were many gifts waiting at his bedside later that day and the next day.

He was also sick on January 3rd, the day he was supposed to remember as his "birthday" ("The perks of being a winter baby," Flynn had said). There were more gifts waiting for him when he recovered, along with a visit from Alan.

* * *

When the sick-season was over, Flynn gave Tom his biggest gift, one that Tom was surprised to receive. In the garage for him was a shiny new bicycle. when it was nicer out, Flynn was going to teach him to ride it, as Tom would find out it was _significantly _different than a Light Cycle.

* * *

"Tom?"

"Hrmm?"

"Tom?"

"Hrrrrrrrrr."

"Toooooooooooom."

"Hrrrrr. Ugh... I'm up. I'm up."

Tom's drowsy mind thought for a moment that this was Flynn calling him, but he realized that Flynn was working late that night. Also, the voice was much too... high and tinny to be Flynn. Tom slowly opened his eyes to see Sam lying on his chest as he was sleeping. Tom lifted the boy off and set him off to the side as he stretched and rolled over in his bed.

"What's goin' on, Sam?" Tom mumbled, now a little more awake than before.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Sam whimpered. "I'm scared there's gonna be monsters."

"Monsters?" Tom asked, rubbing his eyes. "Why do you say that?"

"There's monsters under the bed and in the closet. I don't want 'em to eat me." Sam was visibly trembling.

"I've never seen these monsters," Tom commented, propping up his pillow and sitting up, inviting Sam to sit by his side. "I've never heard of them, either."

"You can't see 'em because you're a grown-up," Sam explained. "You scare the monsters away so they can't come out. If I'm with you, they can't get me."

Tom gave Sam a wistful smile. "I scare the monsters away?"

"Uh-huh."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "But what if they _do _come out?"

"Would they?"

Tom puffed up. "If they come out, I'll fight them. Send them right back under the bed where they came from. And you'll help me, too, won't you?"

Sam nodded eagerly, now feeling more brave, but then he hesitated. "There's just one thing..."

"Yeah?"

Sam frowned. "I'm afraid of the dark. I dunno if I can help when it's dark."

Tom frowned as well, before glancing over at the small nightlight plugged into the opposite wall. Sam noticed this as well.

"You're afraid of the dark, too?" Sam whispered, his eyes widening.

Tom nodded, but he didn't want to give Sam the real reason. "Never grew out of it. You should have seen how much Alan made fun of me."

Sam giggled; he couldn't imagine someone like Alan pointing and laughing at _anyone_. "Did anyone else make fun of you?"

"A lot of people," Tom admitted. "But that was alright. I'd rather get laughed at than gobbled up." He figured his fears were similar enough to Sam's that they could be interchanged.

Sam was filled with, ironically, even more admiration. "Does this mean that we can be afraid of the dark together?"

Tom smiled. "I guess so."

"But I feel a lot safer now," Sam concluded, snuggling into Tom's arm.

Tom sighed as he lay the pillows back where they were and gently lay his head upon them. Both boys gradually fell asleep.

"I do, too."

* * *

"Where's Tom?" Flynn asked as he walked into the living room.

What once would have been a household crisis now became a regular occurrence. Belinda, in her chair, glanced over at Flynn.

"He went to the store to get some groceries. I gave him some money and a little bit extra in case he wanted anything for himself. That boy... he doesn't reward himself often enough."

No sooner than when Belinda had spoken had the door opened and Tom stumbled inside, a bag of groceries in each arm. He spotted Belinda and Flynn out of the corner of his eye and approached them, smiling.

"Sorry about that," Tom admitted sheepishly. "I would have been back sooner, but the lost art of carrying two bags on the same bike is hard to completely master."

"How's the bike working out, by the way?" Flynn asked, smiling at his friend.

"It works great," Tom replied, a wide grin forming on his face. "Goes really fast sometimes. Almost like-" He froze, remembering Belinda was in the room. "Almost like the one I had as a... kid. It's a really nice model, too."

Flynn chuckled. "Glad you like it."

"Do you want me to put these in the kitchen?" Tom asked Belinda.

"That would be nice. Thanks, sweetheart. And put the milk in the fridge, would you kindly?"

Tom took a moment to remember which one the "milk" was. "Got it."

He left and then came back with both hands empty.

"OH, and I almost forgot," Tom piped up, reaching into his pocket and handing Belinda a few bills and coins. "Here's the change."

Belinda looked over the bills. A five, a few ones... and a twenty?

"Thomas," she objected, "this was the money I gave you to get something nice for yourself."

Tom shrugged. "I looked, and I didn't find anything. And I didn't want to spend it on more groceries again."

"Again?" Belinda shook her head and tsked; so that was why the bags weren't _completely _full this time. "Sometimes, I'm concerned about you, Tom. It's not healthy for a young man like you to always be doing the woman's work."

Tom frowned; he'd been doing a lot of work around the house, sometimes taking on burdens that maybe he shouldn't have. However, he understood Belinda's point of view; it wasn't that the family was ungrateful for everything he did, but there were times that, indeed, he gave too much and didn't keep anything for himself. He had to become accustomed to a life where the world sometimes had to revolve around him. However, what Belinda didn't know was that he had legitimate reason to work this much: he didn't want to make the same mistakes he had with Jordan. Not to mention work and completing objectives were a huge part of his life to begin with...

"At least keep it, okay, hon?" Belinda pleaded. "Save it. You deserve it." She handed the $20 bill back to him.

Tom sighed; he wasn't going to argue with her anymore. "Thank you." He took the bill, pocketed it, and then gave Belinda a huge hug.

She hugged him back. "You are a wonderful young man."

* * *

As a surprise, Flynn bought Tom a goldfish. The small bowl sat on his bedside table, where Tom could watch it every day. The fish distracted him briefly from his obsessive housekeeping. He made sure its "home" was always clean, and that it was safe from danger. As Flynn had advised him to do, Tom gave his little Creature a pinch of food in the morning and at night. The little Creature seemed content with that amount as it blissfully swam around in circles, sometimes in one direction, sometimes in another. Every night before Tom went to sleep, he would roll onto his side and watch his small companion still swim around, unaffected by time or space. He was mesmerized by this display, so much so that he often fell asleep soon after focusing on the fish for so long. Sometimes, however, Tom would stay awake long enough to talk to the fish, whether it decided to respond to him or not. Most of the time, it didn't (which made Tom often disappointed) but it sometimes reacted to things he did, such as those times when Tom curiously dipped his fingers into the water in order to see what the little fish felt like.

"You like your little home, don't you?" Tom asked the fish one night, and, as usual, the fish didn't respond. "You like it in there. That little space that's all your own... Have you been anywhere else?" No response, except for the fish swimming up to the surface to gulp some water and air, opening and closing its gaping mouth. "I wonder where else you've been. You couldn't have spent your whole life in there. Although... from the way you're acting, it seems like you have." He chuckled. "No matter where you've been, you've always been in the water, huh? Makes no difference to you, right?" The little fish resumed swimming around aimlessly. "That's the thing. You're always kept in water. You need water. That's what one of Sam's books taught me. You need water to survive, and that's why you're always in it. That's where you function best. If I just reached in there and pulled you out, you'd..." Tom hesitated. "You wouldn't be very happy. Sure, you'd get to see more things than you would if you were swimming around in here all day, but... is it really worth it?" He sighed and smiled. "But I'm glad you're still in there, where you're safe and happy. I couldn't ask for anything more."

He reached over and fondly wiggled his fingers in the water, before chuckling to himself when the little fish was startled and had attempted to hide. Tom took his fingers out of the water and dried them on the bedsheet.

"You're scared because I'm bigger than you," he observed, "because you think I'm going to hurt you or pull you out. That's not the case, little fish. I may be bigger, but I'm nice. I'll take care of you and protect you. You and your own private System." Tom took a quick look around, before continuing, "Yeah, that's it. I'm almost like your User, aren't I?" he asked, bemused, although he wasn't sure the fish knew what a User was. "And you're my little Program. I don't know what your function would be, though." He watched the little fish roll around stones at the bottom of the bowl. "Maybe you'd be a Utility. I don't know. But no matter what your function is, you're a good Program, in my eyes." He yawned. "And I'll be a good User."

* * *

"Flynn?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I talk to you?"

Flynn turned around, realizing from Tom's shy tone that working on the Ducati was not top priority at the moment.

"Yeah... what is it, man?" He looked Tom over; it was ninety degrees, and Tom was still wearing long sleeves.

Tom took a moment to breathe, before looking around to see if anyone was watching or listening (he really had gotten paranoid since Jordan). Tom had hesitated for such a long time that both of them could hear the radio on the other side of the garage ("It's a bright and beautiful day this July 8th, 1986, and in about five minutes we'll have the news...").

Finally, Tom admitted, "I want to go home."

"This again?" Flynn asked in reply, standing up and looking Tom straight in the eye. "Why? You looked so happy..."

"I had to look happy," Tom replied weakly. "I didn't want them to get suspicious."

Flynn leaned in closer to Tom. "Are you still afraid about Jordan?"

"Mm-hmm."

Flynn sighed. "I know how you feel. That _was _kind of scary. She... usually didn't act like that. She never did. I'm sorry she snapped, and it had to be at you. But like I told you before, not all Users are like that. Most Users are nice. They'll like you. You're a nice guy. Don't let her make you cooped up at home all day, okay? It's nice to make some friends every once in a while, guys to hang out with..."

"I don't want to make friends," Tom snapped. Then, he added quietly, "I want to go home."

"Do you want to call Alan and talk about it? If he's not home, then leave a message, maybe he'll call you back tonight while we're reading."

"Flynn."

"Now that I think about it, maybe a bit of reading will get your mind off the Grid. Why don't you find-?"

"_Flynn._"

"Maybe sit outside?"

"_Flynn!_" Tom shouted, louder than he intended for the word to come out. Irritated, he added, "I don't want to read. I don't want to sit outside. I don't want to make friends, I don't want to call Alan, because you're the one in charge of the Portal! You can take me back, can't you?" Tom got down on his knees the way he had seen people on TV do. "Please, Flynn... I just want to go back. I... I miss the Grid, okay? I miss being a Program. Please. No one's going to miss me. Tonight, let's go."

Flynn sighed and got down to Tom's level. "Alan's going to miss you. So are Belinda and Donnelly. Sam's especially going to miss you." When he saw the change of expression on Tom's face, Flynn gave a sad, reassuring smile. "Look, Tom, if you can hold out for a little while longer, I'll see what I can do, okay? I made a promise, and I'm going to keep it."


	22. Purgatorio: IV

**IV**

Days turned into weeks, weeks to months, and soon "July" again came and went; another year.

Tom went to the grocery store routinely; every week, on the same day, at the same time. Whenever the store was closed, Tom just went the next day at the same time. Tom came so often, he was considered a regular, and he began to get well-known (much to his dismay).

Such was the case when he went down to the register to check out one day with what he usually bought for Belinda. He might have seemed enthusiastic when he was at home, but when he was outside, far from the people who mattered, Tom became somber. He seemed to hide nothing but his secrets.

The store wasn't busy that day, so Rachel waited boredly at the register for closing time, which seemed to be an eternity away. She was about to come up with some other meaningless distraction to pass the time when out of the corner of her eye, she noticed someone finally approach the counter to check out some items. Rachel looked up and noticed the young man whom she had spotted often around the store. Figuring that there was almost no one else in the store and he was the only one of the regulars that no one bothered to talk to, she figured conversation was worth a try.

"You come in here every week, and you don't say anything," Rachel quietly observed, not knowing what else to say as he looked up and noticed her.

"Hmm?" Tom asked in the midst of picking up his bag of soup cans.

Rachel bit her lip. "I said… for as often as you come, you don't seem to talk to anyone."

Tom hesitated, before simply replying, "Yeah." He glanced over at the clock; if he got home late, what was he going to tell Belinda?

"What's your name?" Rachel suddenly asked.

Tom, figuring there was no harm in telling her, quietly replied, "Tom. Tom Bradley."

"Any relation to Alan Bradley, over at ENCOM?"

"Yeah," Tom replied. "Older brother."

"I can tell. You look just like him." Rachel chuckled. "Must be lucky to have a brother like that. The most successful my brother's ever been is a manager at McDonald's."

Tom laughed along with her, even though he didn't get half the joke.

"What's your name?" Tom finally asked, figuring that he wasn't going to give his own name without getting hers.

Rachel pointed to her nametag. "Rachel Benson. Don't really have anyone in the family you'd know me by. Do you live around here?"

Tom nodded, feeling a little more at ease, but still wary. "Yeah. I… can't afford my own place, so I'm staying with a friend of my brother's. Flynn."

Rachel gasped quietly. "You mean Kevin Flynn?"

Tom shrugged. "I guess. I just call him Flynn."

Rachel was dumbfounded. "I've never met Mr. Flynn in person before… I heard he used to stop in here and get groceries - the CEO of ENCOM gets his groceries _here _- but I've never been here to see him. And you're with him almost all the time?"

"Yeah," Tom replied casually.

"What's he like?" Rachel inquired curiously.

Tom had to think for a moment. "He's… eccentric. He's nice, smart, funny, a good guy to be around, but he has his eccentricities. I got used to them."

"How long have you been staying with him?" Rachel was now leaning against the counter.

"A little over a year," Tom replied after doing the math in his head. "Last July, I moved in, I think."

"Then I guess you heard about his wife." Rachel was solemn. "Poor thing."

'_Poor thing,' my ass, _Tom thought. _It was either me or her._

"Yeah," Tom replied. "She died. It was sad."

"At least he still has his little boy," Rachel added. "Seth, was it?"

"Sam," Tom corrected, now being careful not to give too much information.

"Yeah, Sam. I read about him once or twice. So," Rachel asked, chuckling, "you do Mr. Flynn's shopping for him?" Tom could tell this was meant to be a joke.

"Yeah," Tom replied, forcing a chuckle. "Yeah, I do."

Rachel glanced over at the clock. "Well, when Mr. Flynn says you can," she teased, before adding, "do you maybe want to get some coffee sometime? Over at the café down the street?"

Tom had watched enough TV to know where this was going. He tensed. "I'm kind of busy…"

"Whenever you can," Rachel insisted, before writing something on a scrap of paper and handing it to him. "Here's my number. Maybe we can work something out tonight?"

Tom heard Jordan's voice resonate in his head, and Rachel could have sworn she saw a hint of… _fear _in his eyes.

"Maybe," Tom stated absently, before grabbing the grocery bags and starting out toward the door, where his bike was just outside. "We'll see." As soon as he could, he took off.

Rachel watched him leave, confused and oddly disappointed.

"Bye," she quietly stated, although she knew he couldn't hear her.

* * *

Tom had finally figured out a name for his goldfish. The little fish was named Puck.

* * *

Tom's reading ability was gradually growing better. When he had nothing to do, he read, and even tried to teach himself to read the books above his "level," although this was not met with much success.

* * *

Tom had eventually stopped using pencils and crayons and instead had moved onto painting. He found himself better at this than he had thought.

* * *

Tom's nightmares had occurred less and less often, although the threat still lingered. There were triggers, like certain commercials on TV, loud music, bright lights, or just even references to… to…

* * *

Tom was protective of Sam, but he was even more protective of Yori's Disk. He let no one handle it, touch it, or even see it. He kept her with him, safe, as she was the only part of home he had left.

* * *

Tom began to spend less and less time at the park. The more he went, the more it all started to look the same. Tom didn't know whether to give up his love of nature completely or simply to find another park.

* * *

"You've had her number for _how _long?"

Tom didn't understand why Flynn was so surprised when Tom had finally told him about Rachel.

"A little over three months," Tom guiltily replied, believing he was being scolded.

"Three mon-" Flynn was flabbergasted. "Why haven't you called her?" The little slip of paper Rachel had given Tom was sitting harmlessly next to the phone on the opposite side of Tom's bedroom.

"I didn't-" Tom started, but Flynn didn't let him finish.

"For the love of God, Tom, if a girl gives you her number, she's _interested _in you. Is she pretty?" Flynn suddenly asked.

Tom didn't know how to answer this. "I guess? But I didn't pay that much attention…"

Flynn sighed. "Tom. Phone. Now."

Tom was more surprised than he should have been. "What-?"

Flynn approached the phone despite Tom's delay in reaction. He held the slip of paper in front of him, wiggling it in Tom's direction.

"You like her, don't you?" Flynn asked.

"She's nice," Tom replied after a beat too many of hesitation.

"And she showed interest in you?"

Several beats too many of hesitation.

"I guess?" Tom replied.

Flynn chuckled, although Tom didn't get what exactly was funny. "My little boy, growing up."

Tom was confused. "But Sam-" he started.

"You should have a pretty good idea of how the world works by now," Flynn continued, approaching Tom once again and patting him on the shoulder. "You've been here long enough. Not that I don't like you hanging out around here, but… if you're planning to stay…"

"I know," Tom interrupted. "But you know I'm not ready to go out on my own. Flynn, if I know anything about how this World works, I know that I am not fully prepared to cope with what you call 'everyday life.' In the S… System, I was fine, but here, I'm not even qualified to pull garbage. And plus…"

"This is the first step," Flynn insisted. "I know it will help you. You establish connections, suck up to the right people…"

"Flynn," Tom suddenly interjected, looking a little guilty.

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to call her."

Flynn frowned; he was expecting this, but he was also disappointed in his friend's decision.

"You said she was nice to you," Flynn stated, confused. "Is she not attractive, or you just had a bad feeling, or…?" Flynn trailed off, finally realizing what the trouble was. "You're scared that…?"

"Mm-hmm."

Tom was reluctant to admit his fear, but it made him feel better that it was off his chest.

Flynn suddenly looked a lot more sympathetic.

"Tom… Jordan's gone. She's not coming back. And not everyone else is like her. There are nice people out there, Tom. Friends. I don't know how to get you to see that. You said your girl was nice, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well?"

Tom was silent, before finally saying, "Jordan was nice at first, too."

Flynn's silence only prompted Tom to continue.

"What if she finds out what I am, just like Jordan did? I doubt she'll be nice for much longer. She's nice, and I will admit she's pretty, but I don't want to risk it."

Flynn sighed as Tom pulled out what he recognized as Yori's Disk and fiddled with it for a while, being inhumanly gentle with the seemingly useless piece of hardware. He could feel that Tom still had love for Yori, no matter what separated them. Seeing the sorrow and longing in Tom's eyes as he looked at what was left of his former lover made Flynn reluctant to open his mouth again.

"Is there anything I can do," Flynn asked slowly in a more serious tone than he initially intended to have, "that will make you see that there's nothing to worry about?"

Tom thought for a moment, before suddenly getting an idea.

"Come with me," he stated.

Flynn was confused. "What?"

"Come with me. When we go, I mean," Tom explained, clearly feigning confidence.

"It's your date, though." Flynn objected.

"But you know I've never been to one of these… things by myself," Tom continued. "I wouldn't know what to do. If you're around, I might feel more confident."

Flynn thought about this for a while.

"Okay," he stated. "I'll come. I can take a Friday night. Besides," Flynn added, smirking, "you need someone to make the reservations."

Tom lowered his voice. "We're going somewhere that needs reservations?"

Flynn's smirk grew wider. "If the CEO of ENCOM is paying, you're not having a date at Burger King. The sooner you pick up the phone, the sooner I'll pick up the phone."

* * *

"Hi, um, Rachel? Is Rachel there? Um… it's Tom. Tom Bradley? From… from the store? Yeah, I… I'm sorry I didn't call sooner, um… I guess I… I don't know… Yeah. Yeah, I'm… I'm considering it. Yeah. I was thinking… maybe… we might… eat? Get something to eat? Dinner? Well, no, not tonight. More along the lines of… I don't know, Friday? Next Friday? Next Friday's good. I was asking because, well, I was… we were… planning to… well, I was… planning to get reservations… _reservations_, at… Blue Sun? Yeah… Yeah, you'd like it? You'd want to go? You mean it? Oh… cool. I guess I'll see you then? Meet me out front, then? Yeah? Okay, see you then. And, um… thanks. Bye."

* * *

Tom was found to be inhumanly good at mental math, despite the slow progress in his reading ability. No one except Flynn and Alan knew why or how.

* * *

Tom kept Yori with him. Always.

* * *

Tom found that spending time with Sam relaxed him, and it was the only time when he felt truly content.

* * *

He did this for Flynn, and not for Rachel.

Tom was ashamed to admit that this whole night was just to get Flynn off his back, especially when he saw how happy Rachel looked to see that he had kept his promise… and also that he had brought Flynn, who had taken time off just to be their "chauffer." No matter how distracted Rachel was by the presence of _the _Kevin Flynn (which was his intent), Flynn always made sure Tom was the "man of the hour," despite how uncomfortable Tom was. As Rachel talked about herself (and he let her, as he wanted the conversation to be as less about him as possible), he couldn't help but to imagine Yori sitting across from him, how she would look as a human… a User-type. He looked like he was paying attention, but he was more focused on what could have been…

… if fate had been kinder.

* * *

Tom rode his bike more often at night than he did during the day. He got a thrill out of it he never understood until now.

* * *

Flynn had Tom sign up for martial arts classes from the same instructor he himself had had. He thought it would be good for Tom.

* * *

Rachel would always count the seconds until noon on Wednesdays. Tom was almost never late.

* * *

When Tom became bored of the park, he took Flynn's advice and instead rode down to the beach every once in a while, the same one where they had gone on vacation last year. He'd go at dusk, when there were very few people there. The sands were cold and the water was even colder.

He'd lay back against a rock, close his eyes for a while, and listen to the sounds of the sea

And dream.

* * *

The nightmares were no closer to going away, as much as Tom lied and said they did. Every once in a while, something would still trigger them, especially when he looked at the abandoned Arcade for too long. Even after all this time, it held a sense of foreboding that Tom still couldn't understand…

* * *

The more focused Tom became on his martial arts, the less stressed he became, or simply appeared.

* * *

Tom and Sam were best friends. They were inseparable.

* * *

Sometimes, late at night, when Flynn was working and Tom had grown bored of Puck's lack of response to his rambling, he would lie awake and talk to Yori, saying what he had always wanted to say to her.

"I love you, Yori," he whispered, laying on his back, staring at the ceiling with his hand over his Disk over his heart. "I don't know if you can hear me, or if there can somehow be a transmission so I can hear you, but… I love you. That User-type woman, she's… she's not the same. No one… nothing will ever give me the same feeling as I had with you. I never wanted to leave you. I never wanted to leave the ENCOM System. You probably still don't even know I'm gone. But maybe you do. Maybe you miss me, too. I won't know. I'll… with the way things are going now, I'll probably never see you again." He sighed, before rolling onto his side, pulling the Disk out of his shirt pocket and gazing at it longingly. "How can you seem so small, so insignificant to them, just another Program, just another thing to be tossed aside? Especially when you're the most important thing to _me? _It's not right. But has it always been this way? Have we always been this insignificant? I'm sure we have, sadly. It's never been about the Programs. Ever." A chill ran down his spine, and Tom shivered. "But I will find someone who will help you. Help us. If not Flynn, then Alan. If not Alan… No, I know Alan will. He understands. He knows about you, and how much I miss you. He can find some way to bring us together. I know it. But until then, just hold on, and I'll try to do the same."


	23. Purgatorio: V

**V**

Days became weeks, weeks became months, and soon the earth made another revolution around the sun. July.

* * *

One day, Tom woke up and saw that Puck wasn't moving. The fish didn't even respond when Tom stuck his fingers in the water. This meant that he was finally able to see what the fish felt like (it was soft and slimy!), but Tom was still concerned. When Tom told Flynn, Flynn understood and explained it to Tom. Tom said he understood that there had been nothing he could do, but he still felt responsible and very, very sad.

* * *

Sam was learning how to ride a bike. Tom helped Flynn teach him, so that they would all go riding together.

* * *

Tom sat down at the dinner table, and suddenly all eyes were on him.

"Tom," Donnelly stated, "we need to have a talk."

Tom was confused. "About what?"

Belinda then came out of the kitchen with a plate of sliced ham, and a few egg sandwiches for Tom. She gave Tom his sandwiches and set the plate down in the middle of the table before sitting down herself.

"It's not that we don't appreciate everything you do for us," Belinda piped up. "But Tom... sweetheart, we've been talking, Donnelly, Kevin, and I. We feel that while we've enjoyed having you do work around the house, you've been here for... almost two and a half years, and..." Tom's confused expression made her hesitate. "We feel as though it's about time you got a job, Tom."

Tom was disappointed, although he was still half sure of what this meant.

"Alan can only pay for you for so long," Donnelly continued. "And what you've been saving up won't cover a year's rent in most places. You need to stop relying on Kevin and your brother."

Tom looked over at Flynn, who hadn't spoken the whole time. Flynn gave Tom a sad smile.

"They're right," Flynn added. "It's... what I've been trying to tell you."

"If you want," Donnelly offered, "I'll give you the want ads from the paper so you can see if you can find anything you like."

"I'd appreciate it," Tom replied, now understanding what they meant.

"But you don't have to right now," Belinda objected. "You have a few weeks. Don't rush into things. Find somewhere you're comfortable."

Tom mused about this for a while, before getting an idea.

* * *

On Monday at 7am, Tom went to the store.

Rachel, whose shift had just started, was surprised to see Tom come in at such an... unorthodox time. "Tom..."

"Hi," he greeted in a slightly more jovial tone than usual.

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asked.

"Seems like you two know each other," another voice piped up, before its source walked in front of them. An aged man wearing the same uniform as Rachel was looking at them both, giving them an amused smile. "Guess I don't have to make introductions, then."

"Mr. Palmer," Rachel stated, chuckling bashfully. "This is my boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend who's now working here," Mr. Palmer corrected, handing Tom a small bundle. "He interviewed last weekend."

Tom almost dropped the bundle as he felt Rachel envelop him in a huge hug, her elation almost radiating from her.

"This is going to be so exciting!" Rachel exclaimed, and Tom flushed bright red.

Mr. Palmer chuckled. "When she lets you move again, I'd get changed. There's a lot to do and not much time to do it."

Tom sighed contently; he knew he was going to like this.

* * *

Tom tried to remember to take Yori's Disk with him nearly everywhere, every day. There were one or two times when he had forgotten her at home, and this was when he was most depressed.

* * *

When Sam became good enough at riding a bike, Tom would accompany him as they rode to "preschool." On some days, Tom took Sam; on other days, Flynn took Sam. On days when neither one could, Belinda took Sam. It would have taken Tom a while to get used to the fact that Sam was not t home for part of the day, but he himself wasn't home for most of the day several times a week.

* * *

Once Tom got the hang of reading, he started to write. Notes, letters, journals... if there was an opportunity to practice his penmanship, Tom took it. After all, writing wasn't all that different from drawing or painting.

* * *

"Excuse me."

In the midst of organizing some bags of chips, Tom turned around to see a young man speaking to him, a customer.

_It's business. It's okay._

"Yes?" Tom asked.

"Could you tell me where the beans are?" the customer asked in reply.

_Command: locate_

_Query: section: beans_

_Location: processing..._

_Location: section: canned goods_

_Query: section: canned goods_

_Location: aisle 4_

_Report: 4/canned goods/beans_

"They should be in aisle 4, with the canned goods," Tom replied.

_Command: locate_

_Query: item: beans_

_Location: processing..._

_Location: 3,5_

"They should be on the third shelf, fifth row," Tom added confidently.

_That is, if someone didn't move them again like they did the crackers..._

The customer was surprised at the specific directions. "Thank you."

"Anytime," Tom replied, before continuing his work.

* * *

Tom was sick during the winter again. However, this time he didn't mind it as much, as it gave him more time to read.

* * *

Tom worked the register as less as possible, which was alright with his coworkers, as they liked how he organized things.

* * *

Tom's bike was starting to get worn out, but he insisted on keeping it and not getting a new one.

* * *

By this time, Tom had acquired a lot of paintings, having sometimes stayed up until very late at night to complete them. Without Puck to talk to and with only Yori by his side, Tom needed a way to distract himself from his chronic homesickness that he had publicly chosen to ignore. Some mornings, there would be one more painting than there were the previous night, and sometimes Tom would wake up to find himself covered in many colors from having fallen asleep on top of an unfinished work.

* * *

For his hard work and dedication, Tom was promoted to a manager at the store. Of course, according to Mr. Palmer, there hadn't been much competition.

* * *

Sometimes, when Flynn was working late, Tom was the one who put Sam to bed. And when Sam insisted on hearing stories of the digital world like his father used to tell, Tom gave him that and more, stories of a World that not even Flynn saw, or was too absorbed in his work to see. Sam also learned more of the hero Tron, whom he thought only his father knew, and his many adventures. However, at the time, Sam was too young to pick up on the wistful tone with which Tom spoke...

* * *

Tom was always uncomfortable when Rachel started to bring up the idea of getting engaged, although she had no idea why.

* * *

Tom still held his sensitivity to loud noises and sounds, and was still jittery when something unexpectedly beeped or buzzed. He would get as far away from loud music as possible, refuse to use a computer of any kind, and he would never, _ever_ cross in front of Flynn's Arcade, no matter how restricted his other options were.

* * *

One Friday night, Tom took Sam to the beach.

It was at dusk, when Tom preferred it, and no one was there. With the moonlight illuminating the shore, the two of them waded in the water, climbed on the rocks, and generally rolled around in the sand. It was the only way for Tom to get hims mind off... the G-word.

Although, for old time's sake, Tom had brought a frisbee.

* * *

Tom still didn't want another fish. Puck had been his favorite little Program.

* * *

"Hey, Tom."

"Hey, Alan."

Tom leaned against the wall, the phone in one hand and Yori's Disk in the other.

"I just called to see how you were doing. How's the manager position working out?" Alan asked from the other end of the line.

"Pretty good," Tom replied glumly, twirling the phone cord around his finger. "How's things at... ENCOM?"

Alan knew this tone of voice, but for now, he chose not to acknowledge it. "Busy. Of course, with the constant conflict between Flynn and the board, that's expected. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought they were discussing politics in there."

"Fascinating."

"Tom..." Alan suddenly stated, "you're still homesick, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

Tom heard Alan sigh. "As I would have expected. Tom... I don't know what I can do. I'm sorry."

"Maybe I can go back on my own. No Flynn required."

"I wouldn't know how to do that," Alan objected. "Do you even know where to go?"

Tom hesitated, before glumly replying, "No."

"That doesn't surprise me. And... I hate to be the one to tell you this, bud, but..."

"Go ahead."

"It's too late. If I've heard correctly from Flynn and I've seen everything you've done, you've already started to establish a life here. Your family, your friends, your job... hell, by this time next year, you could have a fiance. There's no way you could give all of that up."

Tom sighed. "You're just like Flynn. I feel like I'm the only one who doesn't know why I can't go back."

"Tom," Alan remarked calmly, "I'm not making excuses, unlike Flynn. I hate to be the bad guy, but there's no possible way that you can just up and leave everything you've established here. You've been here long enough to know that you can't simply disappear. It's not that easy."

"I would risk it," Tom insisted. "I can't take it, Alan. You don't know how it feels."

Alan took a few moments to reply, choosing his words carefully. "I may not know how you feel, but I know how everyone else will feel. The only way to go about that would be to fake your death, and I... I don't want to go through that."

"But I don't want to stay here!" Tom objected.

"But I don't want to plan a funeral for a brother I never had!" Alan burst, before taking several moments to calm down. "I'm sorry, Tom. I guess... I misspoke. What I meant to say was... these people need you, Tom. I wouldn't die so soon. Not even fake it."

* * *

Tom had decided to visit the park again, this time with Sam. It was nice to see the park in its early summer glory again, every square inch of it filled with life. It was noon on a Saturday, and Tom was sitting on a bench, contently watching Sam frolic and play in the grass. The two of them had just had a picnic, and Tom only now looked over to notice that one of the empty jars was gone. Frowning, he searched all around for it, until Sam called out to him. Putting two and two together, Tom abandoned his search, deciding to approach Sam instead to see what he wanted.

Just as Tom had suspected, Sam was holding the empty jar in his grubby little hands, except Tom noticed that there was something inside.

"Look what I caught!" Sam insisted, holding up the jar to show Tom.

Tom took the jar in his hands and saw that inside was a bright blue butterfly, its wings flapping furiously as it attempted to escape its prison.

"I found it and caught it!" Sam continued proudly.

Tom would have been proud as well, but there was just one thing that troubled him. "Why is the lid on so tight?"

"Because I wanna take it home and show Dad and Gran and Gram! And then I wanna keep it forever and ever and ever!"

Tom frowned, being the only one between them to notice the butterfly gradually growing weaker. Instead of wasting energy attempting to fly, it instead began to crawl along the walls of the jar, or at least attempt to do so.

"Don't you think," Tom asked slowly, giving the jar back to Sam, "that you should let him go?"

Sam grabbed the jar and hugged it to his chest. "But I wanna keep him."

Tom sighed. "I know you do. But what if he doesn't want to be kept?"

"I'll put him in my room, near the window so he can see outside," Sam insisted.

Tom shook his head. "No, Sam. He can't live in a jar in your room. Not for very long. He... can't survive in there."

Little Sam was confused. "Why not?"

"Sam, he'll... he'll die in there. He'll never see his... family or friends or... home again. Look at him." Tom watched Sam observe the butterfly and finally notice that its wings had stopped fluttering.

"I don't want him to die..." Sam muttered.

"Here," Tom offered, extending his hand. "I'll free him. Then when we get home, you can ask your dad for a goldfish or something."

Sam hesitated, before reluctantly handing the jar up to Tom.

"Bye-bye, butterfly," Sam said sadly, looking up at Tom and the jar.

Tom unscrewed the tight lid and, seeing that the butterfly did not fly out right away, gently emptied the small creature into his cupped hand. The little creature stumbled for a while, before finally realizing its freedom and beginning to take off, clumsily twisting and turning before finally fluttering off toward a nearby tree.

Sam waved, shouting, "Bye! Bye! Bye!" but Tom only stood there, somber, watching the butterfly flutter farther and farther away from its captor... and envying it.


	24. Purgatorio: VI

**VI**

And so, and again, days passed, as they did. Gradually, those days became weeks, and those months. And it was in this way that another year still passed, the seasons changing slowly and yet so noticeably. The browning of the leaves that would bring forth autumn was a sight Tom had seen three different times prior to now, and watching the ground gradually be covered by hues of red, yellow, and brown was, despite this, always like seeing it for the first time. At least, Tom made himself think so. He didn't want to admit to himself that he, indeed, had seen this sight several times before.

* * *

After two years of dating, Tom and Rachel broke up. She was devastated, but he thought it was for the best. After all, he couldn't risk her finding out about him and who he was. It was for the best.

* * *

During an interesting family day at a carnival, Flynn offered that everyone could get their fortunes told, just for fun. Once it was Tom's turn to go up, the tent flap fell behind him, and he was face-to-face with the fortune teller.

"Sit down," she invited. He did. He also offered his hand when he asked for it.

"Interesting," she muttered, but she said no more until several moments later. She released his hand and meditated for several moments before stating abruptly, "You will meet a powerful sorcerer-king. He has done ill, but never to you. You are without a sword, but do not fear, for only sympathy shall slay him."

Tom told no one about this event.

* * *

Tom couldn't help but to notice that Flynn had been getting jittery lately. Restless, almost. He didn't understand why.

* * *

Tom called Alan more and more, sometimes lamenting to his answering machine. He needed someone to talk to.

* * *

The more time Tom spent with Sam, the more he had begun to notice that Sam was not the same little ball of drool from when they had first met. In some sort of strange magic, Sam was _growing_. He was changing, and soon, Tom couldn't keep up with him. The more Tom tried to carry Sam, the heavier the boy became, and the more effort it took to hold him. At the same time, Sam was quickly becoming more energetic, which Tom didn't even think was possible until it happened. This whole phenomenon wouldn't have been unusual for the average man, but Thomas Bradley never was and never would be anything close to the average man.

He didn't want to be, either.

One late night, Tom was reflecting about all of this and more as both he and Sam were curled up on the couch, watching one of Sam's favorite movies for the umpteenth time. Sam had long since fallen asleep, and Tom gently cradled him, silently pining for the days when he could physically hold and carry Sam.

Was this what being a father was like?

Tom froze; where had that come from?

Of course, Tom remembered one of the last conversations with Rachel before he had decided that their relationship wasn't quite going to work. At Rachel's insistence, they had begun to fantasize about what their lives would have been like if they were to eventually get married. Tom had reluctantly played along, but he remembered most of what Rachel had said, about how their family would be.

Their family. His family. There was a clear difference between his family and _his _family. The family he had now, with Flynn, Belinda, Donnelly, and Sam... and what he could have had, had there not been so many qualms about who and what he was.

Two or three children... maybe a boy and a girl, and maybe another little boy... her hair, his eyes, her nose, his frame...

This was what Flynn wanted for him. What _Alan _wanted for him. They wanted him to be able to make this decision, to take the opportunity and to start his new life. Flynn had wanted to be the best man at Tom's wedding and see him off on his honeymoon.

"I want to be able to see the day when you take your stuff, pack it up into huge boxes, and say you're going to go out. Into the world, man. I want to see the day when you're _ready_, when you'd have to call me like you call Alan. Maybe come over for Christmas or Thanksgiving," Flynn had told him a while ago. "You deserve a good life, and it's waiting for you."

Maybe Richard or Robert would be a good name. Or even Tom. Thomas Bradley, Jr...

"_You're only useful if you can do things other than what you were meant to do..."_

Tom snapped out of his fantasies, that odd trance he was in. No, he had given all of that up. It may have been a worthless cause to gamble, but it was a cause to gamble nonetheless. What was he going to get from gambling the life he could have had? A hope of going home, even a false one. He wanted to go back, at least once, even just to check up on things. Then one day... microcycle (that word felt nice in his mind)... when it was time for him to go back to the Portal, he would run. Rid himself of the flimsy User-armor and don the skin he had known for so long. He longed for the tight feeling of armor against his skin, almost like a nearly impenetrable exoskeleton. He longed for rooms that were never fully dark, rooms that had been kept alive only in his paintings, and even then only he knew what had symbolized and represented them. He longed to light his own way, the... Energy in his... circuitry glowing bright with health.

And he would be known, regarded among the Programs still, instead of being shoved aside or being referred to as "hey" or "you." He wanted to be stressed, not tired, and he wanted to give status reports. Legitimate status reports, like... like... like...

He forgot how they went.

* * *

Tom read and wrote regularly. It made him feel better sometimes.

* * *

Sometimes, Tom locked the bedroom door, before shutting the windows and covering them with several layers of curtains. Then, he would dim the lights and stand in front of the mirror. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off, letting it fall to the floor just as it had done on... _that _night.

And then he would look at himself, and he would be reminded of how he was in a constant limbo, always between the two Worlds. Even after all this time, he still heard Jordan's voice. He'd never been this ashamed of himself before; he had never been this self-conscious, before coming to this World. However, comparing himself to whom he was supposed to impersonate...

As much as Flynn and Alan wanted him to believe, Tom knew he would never be like Them.

When the lights were dim enough, Tom could have sworn he saw a faint glow from his birthmarks that pulsed with his heart.

* * *

Tom watched TV less and less often. He spent his free time either working around the house (for old time's sake), practicing his martial arts, or reading or writing. Something that would keep his mind busy.

* * *

One morning, Tom looked in the mirror, and he could have sworn that a few strands of hair were lighter than the others. He dismissed this, though.

* * *

Sometimes, Tom stayed late at work, choosing to occupy himself with organizing stacks of goods that had been tampered with during the day. It usually wasn't until Mr. Palmer told him to go home that he finally agreed to do so.

* * *

Tom's immune system was gradually growing stronger. He only became sick five or six times during that particular season, and even then the "attacks" were spaced out.

* * *

In a vain attempt to cheer Tom up, Flynn would every once in a while take him for a "Guys' Night Out," mostly at a restaurant or bar. Flynn told him that he needed some time to "be a guy." At the bar (as this was where they were going on that particular night), Flynn got them a few drinks (he had never been a heavy drinker, but it never hurt to have a drink or two every once in a while) and he urged Tom to fraternize, but all the "night" did was make Tom nauseous, on the urge of fainting or vomiting, and want to go home immediately. He didn't even touch his drink, which had an overwhelming smell in itself.

Finally, Tom couldn't take it anymore; he passed out right before they reached the door to leave.

* * *

Even after all this time, Tom kept Yori's Disk with him.

Always.

* * *

Tom still treated Rachel like a friend, even though he had been the one to end the relationship. In many ways, she was the only friend he had.

* * *

Sam had gotten a little goldfish as well. Tom had named it Antony, but Sam insisted on calling it just "Tony."

* * *

One morning, Tom saw that he had some gray hairs. They were inconspicuous, but they stood out to him.

* * *

No video games for Sam. Tom had established this, and Flynn reluctantly agreed.

* * *

There was still something off about Flynn that Tom just couldn't place his finger on. He was getting more... fidgety.

* * *

Tom's bedroom was nearly covered from ceiling to floor with paintings and drawings that had accumulated over the years. He had contemplated selling several of them to make extra money. Flynn was more than willing to help him.

* * *

Despite his coworkers' grumbling, Tom loved his job. While his various hobbies were fun, there was no better retreat than work. At first, Tom wondered why no one else agreed, but then he realized that he himself had much worse problems than having a "crappy job."

* * *

Tom sometimes helped Sam with his homework. He didn't know much, but Sam thought he was very helpful in math.

* * *

One night when leaving the store, Tom noticed a poster for "ENCOM's newest video game, coming soon to arcades and homes!". Tom shuddered and walked on, the air around him suddenly getting that much colder.

* * *

Tom ended up selling several of his paintings. Altogether, he made $120, which he put toward finally buying a new bike.

* * *

The screeching of ancient metal.

Snapping, clacking, like typing-keys.

Footsteps.

A face.

Lights flickering, flashing.

The rusty metal hinge sound getting louder.

Louder.

Louder still.

Clack-clack.

Clack-clack-clack.

Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack...

And then

He woke up.

* * *

On one of his visits, Alan gave Tom a folded-up piece of paper as a gift. When Tom unfolded it, he discovered the gift: one of his very first drawings. It was hilariously awful, especially compared to what he was drawing now, but he still liked to look at it.

* * *

"Romeo and Juliet, huh?"

One night, Flynn, followed closely by Alan, walked into Tom's bedroom to see Tom sitting up, propped up against a pillow, reading a book. Tom, upon hearing Flynn's voice, looked up at both his guests.

"Hey," Tom muttered. His expression was a little more lively when he saw Alan, who hadn't been supposed to visit until next Saturday.

Flynn sat down on the edge of Tom's bed. He gestured to the book. "Still thinking about Rachel?"

"Flynn," Alan warned.

"Not that much anymore," Tom replied, looking back to his book. "I talk to her at work."

Alan sighed.

"Well, I digress, and you'll be glad I did," Flynn continued. "Alan and I, we've... we've done some thinking. And we've talked at work. About you."

Now Tom looked up. "What about me?"

"Quite frankly-" Alan started, but Flynn interrupted him.

"I'm sorry," Flynn bluntly stated.

"_We're_ sorry," Alan corrected, kneeling at Tom's bedside just as he had done long ago. "We feel as though we haven't given you much say in just about anything."

"We've been ignoring you is what Alan means to say," Flynn piped up, earning himself a disdainful glance from Alan. "And that... wasn't the mature thing to do. You're an individual, just as much as Alan and I are. I guess we keep forgetting that more than we should. So we're going to make it up to you."

Tom was confused. "How so?"

Alan smiled warmly. "You're going home."

"I thought long and hard about it, and I realize what a selfish jerk I've been," Flynn added, grinning. "I'm going to set things up tonight. Tomorrow morning, better have your bags packed."

Tom's face lit up, a dramatic shift in mood from what he usually had.

"You really mean it?" Tom asked brightly, briefly forgetting about his chronic plight.

"Let's face it, buddy," Flynn replied, putting a hand on Tom's shoulder. "You're a Program, through and through. Nothing anyone can do to change that."

For the first time in a very long time, Tom genuinely smiled.

"Affirmative," he replied, grinning from ear to ear.

Alan took a good, long look at Tom, before smiling wistfully.

"I'm really going to miss you, User Champion," Alan whispered.

Tom's grin faded into a sad smile; now he knew what Alan had been talking about when he had said Tom couldn't give his life up just to go home. Thinking about Alan made Tom think about someone else whom he cared deeply about: Sam. What was Sam going to do without him? What was he going to do without Sam? Suddenly, going home didn't sound so exciting anymore.

"I'll miss you, too," Tom whispered back, before adding, "Alan One."

Flynn stood up and let Alan sit in his spot. Tom set the book off to the side and sat on his heels, letting his head rest tenderly against Alan's chest and listening to his soft heartbeat. Alan One pulled his boy closer to him, never wanting to let go.

But Alan One had to, and as he looked into Tron's wide, brown eyes – even after all this time, his eyes still had a trace of that childish wonder he had always remembered – he couldn't help but to fae the inevitable fact that came with his dream: his little boy had grown up. Not in the way that he had originally planned, but all the same, Alan couldn't face the fact that this was a different man than the one Alan first saw curled up, naked, on Flynn's bed in the arcade. That timid face, not unlike one of a mouse and yet so like his own, had haunted him for years. And now, Alan One would never see that face again, unless Flynn let him enter its habitat. Its natural habitat. Alan One had never thought of Tron as like an animal, but perhaps he had taken Tron's individualism for granted.

Finally, Alan stood up, taking a last long look at Tom, before turning around and starting to leave the room. Tom was even more eager to sleep, covering himself with the sheets and making himself comfortable as the book fell to the floor, forgotten.

Flynn remained to ruffle Tom's hair and smooth it out again. It was just the two of them in the room now. Alan had gone.

"In the morning," Flynn whispered. "I'll come get you. We'll go back to the Grid... and you can stay there. Forever, if you like. But you'll never have to come back here again. Now," Flynn concluded, "get some sleep. You deserve it." He smiled at Tom, who smiled back, as he turned around and left the room, leaving Tom alone to sleep in his bed for the last time.

He had never slept happier.


	25. Purgatorio: VII

**VII**

"_Somewhere, over the rainbow..."_

It was the summer of 1989.

Tom had woken up the very next morning, only to discover that Flynn wasn't there. He waited... and waited... but Flynn never came. A few hours, and Tom had grown jittery. Several hours, and Tom had stopped eating.

Flynn still hadn't come.

"_Way up high..."_

A few days, and Tom had locked himself away from everyone else, including even Sam. Only Alan was able to come inside Tom's room, and he was shocked to see what was there waiting for him. Halves, quarters, even eighths of broken paintings, pages and pages torn out of books, large holes and dents in the wall where Tom had punched and kicked... the room had been destroyed, in the most literal sense.

Tom refused to see reason, to settle down, to keep hope. He let Alan talk to him, but even Alan was promptly dismissed once he attempted to persuade Tom to settle.

"Go away!" Tom would scream at the top of his lungs. "Go away, go away, _GO AWAY!_"

Alan had the sense to duck out of the way and flee before the grief-stricken Tom could throw or kick something at him.

"_There's a land that I heard of..."_

Flynn was gone. Flynn was gone. Flynn had gone, and he hadn't come back. Why? Flynn had promised to take him back. The one time Flynn genuinely promised to take Tom back to the Grid, he became inexplicably gone. Why? WHY? _**WHY?**_

It had been just his luck. Yes, that was it. Just his luck that Flynn chose to abandon him, just as he had done at the Arcade.

"_Once in a lullaby..."_

The Arcade. It was all the Arcade's fault. Tom didn't know why or how, but he needed something to curse, something to damn. The Arcade, and everything it had wrought, was the bane of his existence. It was probably mocking him, mocking his fate.

And what was his fate? Was his fate to stay in this World for all eternity? Would it be his fate to one day grow old, grow sick and eventually die, without ever seeing any semblance of home again? How long would it be, then, until he was old and sick, suffering more in his prolonged decay and demise than any Program could ever imagine?

Yori's Disk was gone, too.

He was truly alone.

"_Somewhere, over the rainbow..."_

Tom had stopped eating altogether. He stopped eating and he stopped sleeping. He was trying to convince himself he no longer needed to do so, that everything had turned out according to plan. He was not human. He was a Program. He had more and more dizzy spells, and on occasion, he nearly fainted, but he stubbornly chose to ignore this.

This wasn't happening.

"_Skies are blue..."_

Tom watched the news. It had been an entire week, and there was still no sign of Kevin Flynn. Believers rallied, protesting claims of his death, but they were mostly ignored. He also noticed that among Flynn's "survivors," Sam and Alan were getting significantly more attention than he was.

He wanted to keep it that way.

"_And the dreams that you dare to dream..."_

Finally, Tom couldn't take it anymore. A little over a week after Flynn's disappearance, Tom ran away. Took his new bike and headed off, headed away. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening.

He wore his belt, just in case.

"_Really do come true..."_

The Arcade was just as dark and dusty as he had left it. But Tom did not go inside. He dared not to ever enter that place again. So, instead, Tom discarded his bike and stood outside... and waited.

"_Someday, I'll wish upon a star..."_

A noise from above distracted his vigil. Three large black birds were perched on top of the billboard that hung above the Arcade. Tom finally had a chance to read what the billboard said, after merely dismissing it for so long.

HOME OF SPACE PARANOIDS AND TRON

**HOME OF TRON**

The birds cawed and cackled, one's screech piercing the air as they all flew off. So this was it, then. The Game, the one that had decided his fate, was mocking him. Could it have predicted this? Could he have predicted this? Could anyone, especially Flynn, have predicted this?

"_And wake up where the clouds are far behind me..."_

He waited... and waited... and waited... and waited... and waited... and waited... and waited... and waited.

Some people, obviously Flynn-believers, offered to wait with him, but Tom chased them away viciously. This was _his _vigil.

"_Where troubles melt like lemon drops..."_

A young boy, perhaps in his teens, refused to leave.

"Man, heard the rumor that Flynn was planning to reopen the arcade before he disappeared," he told Tom when he had stood his ground. "Think of the excitement there will be when he comes back."

"Get out," Tom growled, at this point his ribs being barely visible through his shirt. "Go! Get away!"

The young man was frightened, but he only took a few steps back. "It's amazing what... what some people will do for a... a bunch of... video games."

_Video games._

"_Away above the chimney tops..."_

Tom growled deeply and lunged, with the intent of channeling his anger, grief, and despair into something other than painted canvas and books. He lost himself; gone was passive, reserved Tom, always blindly patient and forgiving. Always faithful. Brushed away one too many times.

The man's screams gave Tom an odd sort of satisfaction, one that he never had before. It was almost nice, seeing this man almost as miserable as he was, although he would never know how it felt.

This civilian and Tom's hands were nearly covered in blood. Starved and crazed, Tom had done this with his bare hands.

"_That's where you'll find me..."_

Tom heard distant screaming and police sirens before noticing that a mob was beginning to form of people who wanted to see the commotion. Tom tried to scare them away from his vigil with no success.

"_Somewhere, over the rainbow..."_

Tom felt someone – a few someones – grabbing his arms from behind. He heard shouting, but at this point his mind was too fuzzy to figure out what it was. He growled and struggled, but his lack of strength was not giving him the upper hand. And yet he tapped into his instincts, instincts that had not been awakened in at least four years. In a flash, a blur of fuzzy events, Tom escaped, pulled himself free, although he couldn't remember when or how.

He was not human. He was a Program.

Program.

Program.

Program.

Program.

Program...

"_Bluebirds fly..."_

Tom attempted to run, but was overwhelmed by the mob, all with their individual efforts to restrain him, interrogate him, or take his picture. Tom used whatever was left of his energy to attempt to free himself from them, now more terrified than vengeful. He tried to appear stronger than he really was.

The sound of thunder rumbled and rippled through the dark sky. A bright flash of lightning, and then more thunder.

"_Birds fly over the rainbow..."_

It began to rain. Pour. Lightning came, and thunder followed as Tom forced himself to mount his bike, taking this whole ordeal as a sign that his fate was sealed, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Nothing, except for one thing.

He pedaled. He pedaled fast, using energy and adrenaline he didn't know he had. He pedaled away from the city, away from the vengeful mob, without looking back.

He didn't look back.

"Tooooooooooom! _Toooooooooooom!_"

Not even when he heard Rachel screaming his name from the front of the mob, not angrily but despairingly. She howled his name, and it remained in his head forever.

He didn't look back.

All for home.

"_Why, then, oh, why can't I?"_

Once upon a time, there was a man on a bike. Not a motorcycle; just a bike...


	26. None of Woman Born

Radiant light, and yet so many ways to shroud it.  
Tender love, and yet damning hate.  
Beauty unlike anything you could ever dream, and yet horrors beyond your imagination._**  
Welcome to the Brave New World.**_

_He felt like he had been standing on that tree branch for a thousand years. It was clear he hadn't, as it was still pouring. His hair clung to his head. His shirt clung to his chest, making his ribs protrude even more. He hadn't jumped yet._

_After several heartbeats, Thomas Bradley slowly removed the belt from his neck. He didn't have the courage, not even now._

_Dying was not going to take him home. If anything, it was going to take him farther from it. And what was going to take him home? Tom didn't exactly know the answer to that._

_Why did bad things happen to good people?_

_The question had suddenly formed in Tom's mind; it had been asked many times before by many different people, and there was either no answer or one in particular: bad things happened to good people so that good things would come out of it. One could appreciate heaven more if he had been through Hell first._

_But what good had this done? What good had come from Tom's being stranded in this World for what could be eternity?_

_He recalled the mysterious fortune he had received the previous fall at the carnival. He remembered it well._

"You are without a sword, but do not fear, for only sympathy shall slay him."

_Tom released the breath he had been holding. The Arcade King, at long last, had fallen. A secret menace to his creations and a threat to Programkind, he had gone far too long without repaying his debt._

_It was a gargantuan debt to pay, one individual punishment for every Program slaughtered in the Arcade. As much as Tom loved his friend, his was a debt best repaid in Hell._

_And Tom had been the one to send him there._

_The Arcade King was the tyrant Macbeth, who could not be slain by any man born of woman. And yet here Tom was, Macduff, but instead of slaying him by the sword, he had tricked the King (unintentionally?) and sent him to his demise. Tom did not know for sure, but from the way he had cursed Flynn when he had first moved from Alan's home into Flynn's... for Flynn having disappeared for this long, to the extent where some people were claimimg him dead, there was no choice but to accept that he had gotten his comeuppance._

_But at what cost? Tom had sacrificed his way home to give Flynn what he had deserved this whole time. The fall of the Arcade King was satisfying, but how was Tom going to get home?_

_**"Somewhere, over the rainbow..."**_

_What was it Alan had said to him so long ago, while Tom had still been going by the name of "Tron"?_

"That's the nice thing about being human, Tron. You can have nightmares, but you can also have dreams."

_Dreams. Dreaming was the only way to keep the memory of home, Home, alive. No matter how long he was here, he didn't want to forget._

_**"Skies are blue..."**_

_Leaving the belt-noose hanging from the tree, Tom took a daring leap off the branch and landed swiftly on his feet, with some fatigue. A great amount of fatigue. He was tired and weary, after such a long day. A long year. A long time._

_**"And the dreams that you dare to dream..."**_

_He lay down on the muddy ground, not caring who was running up the hill and through the forest to claim him, and as the pouring rain washed over him and caused his body to sink slightly into the mud below him, he closed his eyes_

_and dreamt._

_**"Really do come true."**_

_He dreamt, as the rain began to cease, the thunder began to quiet, and the clouds parted just enough to reveal the stars._

* * *

_"O, Brave New World" quotes from The Tempest, William Shakespeare  
"Over the Rainbow" by Judy Garland in The Wizard of Oz, cover by Celtic Woman_


	27. The Bogeyman

While the angel lamented far away and above them, a group of Programs had gathered at the edge of the Outlands. This group of Programs had been gathering for the past few cycles so that they could freely talk amongst themselves. The spot that they had chosen was far enough away from the main System to provide some form of privacy, yet not so far into the Outlands that they needed to worry about what types of creatures lurked beyond what they could see. With all of the trouble in the System, they didn't need to worry about what other types of trouble that they could get into. The place where the group had chosen together was close to a fairly large tunnel opening It was just a precaution in case anything did happen and they needed a quick getaway.

As a few more stragglers arrived, an older Program created a "fire" made of Energy.

"Is everyone here?" the same Program asked.

Heads turned side to side and it seemed like no one was missing. If a Program was, he or she generally turned up later or didn't come at all. It was risky, being anywhere near the Outlands. A younger female Program responded, "Everyone's here, Joran."

Joran gave a small smirk, before becoming calm. It was nice, being able to speak his mind in a discussion with "friends" again.

"So," Joran started, rubbing his hands together even though there was no purpose in trying to get warm, "has anyone seen the Games lately?"

A few scattered and broken chuckles made their way through the Programs, but short moments passed and nothing was said. The half-silence was broken by the voice of a young Program. "There's no reason to go watch the Games," he countered. "What's the point of watching something when we already know how it's going to end? Waste of what little currency we have, anyway."

Joran chuckled darkly. "If that's the case, then why are the stands still packed full? Surely there's got to be some other exciting element besides... how it ends. CLU already knows it's always the same song and dance. Once the User-Believers are gone, who's left to entertain the crowd? CLU doesn't exactly have time to come out and do parlor tricks."

"You know who it's going to be, Joran," a darker Program spat. "Ever wonder what's been happening to the strays? We've all seen the increase in Recognizers. I'd wager that come next cycle, the only ones competing in the Games are going to be strays."

"True," Joran replied casually, satisfied at the amount of attention he gathered from the small group present. "However, strays are only amusing for a while, the way they stumble around and pretend to have a function. They'll all be cubes in no time. What I'm talking about is bigger... more..." he paused for a moment, glancing up at the dark sky in order to think of the word. "... revolutionary. Creative, even."

A Program, relatively young and wide-eyed, leaned forward slightly and asked, "Joran, what are you talking about?"  
Joran let out an amused chortle, one that briefly echoed throughout the tunnel, sending any ambling Gridbugs scurrying.  
"He doesn't know, does he?" Joran asked the Program sitting on his right in the small circle. "He doesn't know about... the Creature."

A blond-haired Program nearby, even though he was not addressed, piped up, "Not know? How can he live on the Grid if he doesn't know about... if he doesn't know about..." He grew too nervous to continue. "Know about... it."

One of the Programs near the middle of the circle nudged the Program next to him and a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "He's probably too afraid to ask about it.. Maybe he hasn't been listening to what's being said."

"Hey!" the blonde Program interjected, before remembering to keep his voice quiet. "Of course I know. I've heard the same stories you have. I'm just saying that if you live on the Grid and you don't know what's lurking in the shadows, you're just begging to get derezzed..."

"Derezzed by what?" the wide-eyed, naive Program insisted. "What's going to derezz me?"

The Program to Joran's right gently sighed before she explained, "Not what, Lume. Who."

"Who?" the naive Program, Lume, was confused; monsters were not generally a 'who' as much as they were a 'what'. Clearly, this was an important monster or creature or whatever - whoever - the thing was. "What do you mean?"

Joran spoke again. "No honest Program dares to speak his name. Anyone brave or foolish enough to even try, his mortal neck gets snapped as easily as his Disc. He haunts this System. Longer than most of us even remember."

"I heard that CLU puts him in the Games because he was derezzing too many Programs," a darker-haired female added. "Grid's got to have a population, you know."

"The greatest Warrior to walk the Grid, from what I've been told," the blonde commented quietly. "Got the strength of ten Recognizers and the speed of a juiced Light Cycle. No one dares to challenge him. No one who wants to stay in one piece, anyway."

"There's been one story that Tron fought him, shortly before he disappeared," a young female offered. "Tron won the battle by cutting off the beast's arm, but after that, he was never seen again. Some say that, for revenge, he tore Tron limb from limb with only one hand. Didn't even give him a quick derezzing."

"Snapping jaws, giant, gnashing teeth," a dark-haired male hissed playfully. "And his claws... I could see them from all the way in the back of the stands! One scratch from his finger and you're cubes before you can call to your Maker." He quietly reached over his mate's shoulder and quickly gave her a scratch on the neck, making her jump and giggle quietly.

There was a Program who wasn't having any of it. The Program countered, "You're all overreacting. This is something you'd expect from an ISO, not Programs like us. There's no Program that exists who fits that kind of description. What do you know? Fragment, what do any of us know? We're all making a big deal out of rumors."

Another surge of murmurs and mumbled phrases spread through the group again. Most, if not all, of the gathered Programs had heard similar tales. But what was true? Was there even truth to these tales? There was no doubt that the Warrior existed; on that, there was no debate. Who the Warrior was, however, and where he had come from... most Programs settled for the common theory of "he was just simply there."

"His circuitry," a slightly older Program interjected. "Joran, do you know about the Warrior's circuitry? Do you know why there's no order to it at all?"

"No one knows," Joran replied. "There have been rumors that he's not even a Program. He's not an ISO, either. He crawled out from the deepest, darkest pit of the Sea of Simulation. Before CLU found him, he devoured live Gridbugs for Energy."

The older Program winced slightly and another retorted, "Dytrix, you're the one who asked. I think you would have learned that it's better to keep some questions to yourself."

"Some things, you're just better off not knowing," Joran mused, smirking at the debate rising among the small group. "Some things are better left mysteries."

Dytrix lowered his head slightly as various pairs of eyes turned towards him. He knew that he was better off not knowing, but it had been gnawing at him since he had first heard the stories. He had kept that question to himself for many cycles.

"But he's in the Games," Lume piped up. "He's... safely away from us, right? Locked up?"

The Programs looked at one another and some had expressions of surprise on their faces. Had they thought to ask about that before? Out of all the rumors that had been circulated and spread, those types were the ones that got the least attention. Most Programs were more concerned about what would happen on the rare occasion that they would meet the beast, face to hideous face. Still, it was at least something that should give them some sort of pause. Was there even need to worry? While they didn't entirely trust CLU, they at least trusted that he would keep a beast as dangerous as the Warrior safely locked away from the innocent who faithfully served him. The beast's wrath, it was told, was best saved for those who had the nerve to oppose Perfection.

"Before he was in the Games, he was a hunter," Joran explained. "That much we know. Under CLU's command, he was the perfect Warrior. Strays, blasphemers, User-Believers, ISOs... he wiped out ten for every one an average Warrior could take. He's the reason CLU kept his followers all this time; if there's any kind of sudden rebellion, CLU just might change his mind about keeping his creature confined to the Games."

"Some wrong moves, and we might have another Purge on our hands," Dytrix muttered.

Any waiting utterances or half-calculated replies were stopped at Dytrix's mention of the Purge. That single moment was one of the worst in the history of the Grid, yet no Program spoke up in defense of the ISOs. To speak up against CLU in such a way was to incur his wrath. This wrath, as always, was carried out through the Warrior. The Warrior was precise to a degree that even surpassed CLU himself. That fact had been true enough at the time of the Purge. There had been sparse rumors concerning the Warrior before the Purge, but the rumors took on a life of their own after that event. To a degree, the rumors were similar to the ones that the small group discussed. The rumors varied, although they all portrayed the Warrior as the ferocious killer he appeared to be at the Games. Rumors about his origins were varied the most, so much so that the Warrior was never confirmed to have a clear origin, since each rumor contradicted the next. However, as many rumors as there were spread about the Warrior, only the most extreme and far-fetched were the closest to the actual truth...


End file.
